


Roommates

by Jali



Series: Roommates + expansions [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon, Pokemon GO
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Objectification, Oral Sex, Original Pokemon Region, Pokemon Fanfiction, Pokemon GO - Freeform, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 102,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jali/pseuds/Jali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve just started a new life in a new town, and when your current roommate leaves, you’ve got to find a replacement before that rent is due! You were hoping for another girl, but when Spark wheedles you into meeting him, you can’t help but agree to let him move in. He’s got a great career, two spoiled fur-babies, actually cleans (!), and bonus: he’s hot. What could go wrong?</p><p>Will contain assorted pairings of side characters later on, but the main focus is a het couple. </p><p>Right from the start, this contains sexual situations and graphic sex, so please read responsibly.</p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <a href="http://8tracks.com/jalisama/roommates-the-fanfic-companion-playlist">Listen to the Roommates companion playlist for mood music.</a>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div><hr/><p>
  <em>Fully beta'd version due in 2018.</em>
</p><p><strong>2018/01/07:</strong> I'm pre-releasing the next installment of Roommates, called Valentine's Day, to a select audience. You can find out more about that by following <a href="http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/tagged/roommates%3A-valentine%27s-day">the tag on my blog</a> for teasers! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh, no; he's hot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn. There's a lot of talk about sex and the female OC has a vivid and opinionated internal monologue. Don't expect poetic walls of prose talking about a glimpse of skin or the way Spark's eyes look at her. It's raw, it's crude at times, it's objectifying; hell, it's the way women talk when nobody's there to judge them.
> 
> She's not at all your typical Mary Sue; she's got dating history, sexual frustrations, and a roommate driving her up the wall because he's so adorable she could just strangle him.
> 
> Feedback is always desired!
> 
>  
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> 
> **[Follow my writing blog](http://ficsandwhatall.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other fun stuff.**

You were new in town, starting a new job, a new life. Rent was almost double what it was back home, and to save on transport you’d ditched your car, so walking to work was your new commute. It wasn’t all bad, though. There were great cafes in the neighbourhood, a farmer’s market where the community sold their surplus produce grown on shared lots, and most day-to-day shopping was a few minutes’ walk in any direction. Many of your friends already lived in town, and your new boss couldn’t wait to start throwing projects your way.

The change in lifestyle and new work took adjusting to, and the expenses ate away at your savings. After a few months, your roommate announced she was moving across town to live with her fiancée. The apartment that had seemed just a bit cramped at first now seemed way too big and way too expensive. You were going to need another roommate, the sooner the better.

You put out an ad and got some creepy and weird replies. Most of the girls that replied sounded financially unstable or awful to have to live with. The weeks ticked by. Some matronly forty-something divorcee promised rent on time and home-cooked meals, but you’d sooner move back home to live with your real mom. A couple of potheads that were quiet, respectful, and paid on time sounded ideal, barring the fact that their one habit could get the cops busting down the door, and you were pretty sure your new eevee wouldn’t like that.

Watching your roommate direct the movers with her furniture, you smile weakly and sip a beer, stomach in knots about the upcoming rent you couldn’t really afford. Your holocaster vibrates. You excuse yourself to the balcony for a bit of quiet and pick up the call.

_“Hi, I’m calling about the ad for a roommate. Do you have a minute?”_

It’s a male voice, energetic and youthful, but with a pleasant bass undertone.

“Um, I’m sorry, I think you’re calling the wrong person.”

He reads back the ad; sure enough it’s yours. You laugh awkwardly.

“Forgive me, I don’t mean to be rude but the ad is for a female tenant.”  
_“Yeah, I got that, but I was kinda hoping you might make an exception? I can pay the first two months in advance, I’m hardly home, you’ll barely notice I’m there.”_  
“Sorry, buddy-”  
_“The name’s Spark. Would you at least agree to meet? Maybe I can change your mind.”_  
“You’re really determined. Why do you want this place so bad, Spark?”  
_“It’s close to where I work. I just got to know the neighbourhood and I really want to stay in it.”_  
“Can’t argue with that.”  
_“Do you know the Prancing Vulpix? Would you like to meet there this evening?”_  
“I, um… I suppose? This doesn’t promise you anything.”  
_“I understand. But I’d like to try and change your mind.”_  
“Ok, seven? What do you look like?”  
_“Blonde hair, blue eyes, uh… today I’m wearing an orange hoodie and dark-blue jeans.”_  
“Alright, see you there.”

The café is mostly full of students studying in quietly murmuring groups when you get there. Picking a table facing the doorway, you sit and look around at each of the people already there. None match Spark’s description. You gaze out the window, watching the rain begin to come down, turning the blue evening even more dreary. The apartment was empty now, just you and your eevee and a lot of dust where your roommate’s things used to be. For the first time since moving into town, you felt pretty lonely.

A flash of orange catches your eye, brilliant against the drab backdrop of the city. Your eyes follow the figure as he dashes down the crosswalk, approaching the café. His hood is up and his head is down, but you’re pretty sure that’s Spark. You lose sight of him as he rounds the corner and then he’s walking through the front door, shoulders pattered with rain and reaching up to pull his hood down. Safe in your anonymity, you study him from afar.

He’s slim and tall -taller than you- and those jeans do a great job of highlighting his long legs. Can’t deduce much with that hoodie in the way, but you’d wager he’s not tubby in the middle. His hands and face look clean, and his hair seems in good condition, if a bit messed from the hood. So far he looks normal. You breathe a sigh of relief tinged with resignation and stand up to wave him over.

“Hi, Spark. We spoke earlier today.”  
“Hey, thanks for agreeing to meet with me, I really appreciate it. Did you order anything yet?”  
“I wasn’t planning on staying long.”  
“Aw, c’mon, my treat. I dragged you out here. What’ll it be?”  
“Oh, um… a peppermint hot chocolate would be really nice, what with the weather and all.”  
“I know, right? My pokemon are totally buzzed. Cool, I’ll be right back.”

Left to ponder that cryptic statement, you find your gaze drawn down his back as he turns away to head toward the counter. The hoodie’s really not doing him any favours, but damn if that’s not a nice, firm-

_Wait, is that a gym logo?_

Your eyes flick back to the graphic printed on his clothing. A silhouette of a zapdos with INSTINCT overhead, and GYM LEADER underneath. Well. This changes things. Maybe having a male roommate won’t be that bad? Spark returns a few minutes later with your hot chocolate and some whipped-cream drowned confection in a tall glass for himself.

“You’re a gym leader?”

He looks surprised and then smiles.

“Oh, yeah. You read my shirt?”  
“Guess I don’t have to ask what you do for work. Is that why you’re not home much?”  
“Mm-hm.”

He’s going to town on that whipped cream.

“You said you liked the neighbourhood. How long have you lived here?”  
“Mm, like… two years? I’ve been living at the same place all this time, but they sold it and the new owners want to turn the place into an art gallery.”  
“That sucks.”  
“Yeah, I really liked it, too. It had a great view of the park, and my neighbours were super nice. I’m gonna miss it. Oh, do you like wood carvings?”  
“Um, not especially. Why?”  
“My neighbour’s selling some of his art to cover the move. S’ok, don’t worry about it.”

You blow gently on your drink and take a sip. You’re not. You’re wondering what this guy would look like with nothing on.

“So what do you do? For work, I mean.”  
“I work in marketing.”  
“Oh, neat. Have you been here long?”  
“Just a few months. My roommate left today.”  
“That sucks.”  
“A little. I’m happy for her, though. She’s moving in with her fiancée.”  
“Do you have any pokemon?”  
“Just an eevee. I missed my cat back home so I found him at the shelter.”  
“Aww, that’s so sweet of you. What’s his name?”  
“The shelter called him Earl Fluffins. He doesn’t respond to it, so I think they made it up.”  
“Oh, yeah. They do that for the ones that get abandoned. I don’t know who in their right mind could abandon a cute little fluff like that…” He trailed off and went back to whatever he was eating.  
“Anyway, so… do you have any bad habits? Are you going to come home all drunk and rowdy in the middle of the night? Your bedroom’s not going to be an open-door parade, is it?”

The barrage of questions makes him pause, spoon in mouth. He swallows and grabs a napkin, coughing to hide his embarrassment.

“I don’t drink much or do any drugs. Hello, gym leader? We have to lead by example. Not that I want to, anyway, I’ve heard what that stuff can do to you.”  
“Fair enough.”  
“And bad habits? Um… I’m not the most proactive about laundry, but that’s cause I’m either working or working out. I won’t make it your problem, though.”  
“Better not, and if I smell anything weird, you’re going to hear about it.”

He laughs at that. He has a really cute laugh.

“Sure, no problem.”  
“What about girls? Or guys, no judgement here. Like, am I going to see a new stranger every morning, or…?”  
“No, no, that’s… That’s not a problem. It won’t be a problem.”  
“I’d just appreciate a warning, is all.”  
“Yeah, absolutely. Um… what about you?”  
“Single, looking, but not looking for one night.”  
“I see.”

You sip your drink, glancing out at the rain coming down harder. Dammit, you realize. You left your umbrella at home.

“So, I guess if your laundry situation is any hint, you’re probably not big on other chores.”  
“Well, like garbage and keeping the bathroom in order I can manage. I tend to get up early, and it’s part of my routine anyway.”  
“Oh, ok.”  
“I don’t cook, though. There’s a cafeteria at the gym, and right now I just keep some snacky things on hand. So the kitchen’s all yours.”  
“Yeah, I don’t cook much either. Another reason I’ll miss my roommate.”  
“Oh, I’m sorry. Sounds like you guys were good friends.”  
“Yeah, I guess we were.”  
“Hey, I know you have your eevee, but are you cool with me having my own pokemon out?”  
“What? Yeah, sure. You probably have all electric types, right?”  
“I’ve got a mixed bag, but they tend to stay at the gym. More space for them, y’know.”  
“Right.”  
“Mostly I bring my jolteon and pikachu home. They’re pretty attached to me, since I raised them from tiny babies.”  
“Aww, that’s really nice.”

You finish your now cooled off chocolate and dab your mouth with a napkin. Your ad had specifically stated female-only roommate, but here you were, majorly considering letting this gym leader guy move in. The paranoid little pidgey in your brain was screaming, “what if he’s a rapist? What if he’s lying about the booze and is really an alcoholic? What if he’s on drugs? What if his friends suck and they come over all the time? What if he’s into some really weird, kinky shit? What’s the deal with his laundry? Just do it, man! What does he consider snacky things? Is he vegan?”

“Do you have any particular things I should respect? Like, I dunno, are you vegan? Are you gonna flip out if you see me eating bacon or something?”  
“What? No way, I love bacon!”  
“I figure if you’re up early, you go to bed early. I’m usually up until eleven. Is that going to be a problem?”  
“Up doing what?” He grins. “Just curious. It probably won’t bother me. I’m a heavy sleeper.”

Before you can steer your mind somewhere else, you can feel the blush starting up your neck and across your cheeks.

“Sometimes work stuff, mostly personal stuff. I mean like video games. Blogging.”  
“Hey, no worries. You look kind of red –are you blushing?”

You turn away to cough.

“Did I say something weird?”  
“Uh, no, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. That hot chocolate’s just doing its job.”  
“Yeah, I love their menu. Did you know they do breakfast sandwiches?”  
“Oh? I usually eat at home.”  
“It’ll change your life. We should totally come here for breakfast.”  
“We should totally go make- Uh, I mean… I should go.”

_-Go make out with you in the rain, heeeyyyyy!_

“Ok, wait, I’ll give you my number and email. I can’t leave the gym when I’m on call, but you can stop by any time. Hey, do you battle?”  
“No, I only have my eevee with no real name.”  
“Wanna learn how?” He pauses in the middle of briskly typing into his holocaster and gives you a grin straight out of a boy-band poster. “I could teach you.”  
“We’ll see. I dunno.”  
“Ok, there, all sent. Now that you know I’m a totally normal dude, I hope you’ll consider me for your roommate.”  
“Surprisingly… I am.”  
“What, really?”  
“Yeah. Um, not to be that guy, but rent’s due in a week, and I could probably push it a few more days because of my roommate bailing, but you’re kind of the most normal person I’ve spoken to so far. And I know the ad said girls-only, but… I’m thinking about it.”

 _More like thinking about what your stomach looks like_ –WOULD YOU STOP THAT.

“Awesome! Well, I’ve still got another month left on my place, so there’s no rush on my part. But I would be really down to see your apartment, if you’re cool with that.”  
“Yeah, sure. When are you usually free?”  
“About this time, pretty much every day.”  
“You work seven days a week? Isn’t there a law-?”  
“Oh, no. I meant like what probably works for your schedule. You’re probably not up at five AM, and weekends are peak time at the gym, so my weekend falls on a Tuesday and Wednesday.”  
“Oh, I see. Then evenings do work out.”  
“I mean marketing sounds like an office kind of job, and offices usually have set hours. I could be wrong.”  
“No, that’s pretty accurate. Ok, how about Wednesday evening? I’ll send you my address.”  
“Sure, that’s great.”

A look out the window said the rain was easing up, but the rivers flowing along the edges of the road said it would be treacherous walking home.

  


You never did consider anyone else who replied after Spark. He moved in two weeks later and, as promised, paid two month’s rent up front.

Most mornings he was gone before you woke up, and came home after you, except Tuesdays and Wednesdays when he slept in, door slightly ajar and piled on by his jolteon and pikachu. The garbage never piled up and the bathroom was always spotless. He even took it upon himself to tidy the kitchen, though he claimed to not have use for it. He appeared to have no shame about exiting the bathroom after a shower in nothing but a towel, not that you minded the view one bit.

That first week when you realized he was still home in bed, you were convinced he was ill or dead and peeked past the threshold to call to him. His pikachu rolled over and blinked at you, seeming unconcerned. Spark hadn’t seemed to hear you so you backed out and pretended it had never happened. Still, were it not for the sheet across his rear, you’d have solid evidence he slept in the nude. You liked to fancy he did, and it kept you entertained during long, dull meetings.

One particularly shit Friday, you came home chilled and soaked through, and in the surliest mood because your period had started. Spark offered you a cup of tea, said he was ordering pizza, and shooed you off to the shower. It turned out to be the nicest Friday night you’d had in a while, sitting around the coffee table critiquing movies while eating out of the box. You finally settled on one to watch all the way through and woke up on the sofa during the credits, finding Spark’s head lolled back against your calves and he, too asleep.

Spark was pretty much an ideal roommate. But then disaster struck.

“What do you mean, you got robbed? Are you ok?”  
_“I’m fine, but not really. Someone stole my jacket with my wallet in it, and my holocaster, and everything. I don’t know what I’m going to do, I can’t even make a new bank account without my ID.”_

You pace the empty boardroom, gnawing your lower lip.

“Shit, that’s really bad. Have you filed a report with the cops? Does the gym have security video?”  
_“It’s going to take time to go through the videos, and I did call the cops. They said I’m better off just making everything new because my credit might be compromised, whatever that means.”_  
“Ok, well at least you’re alright. That stuff’s all just material.”  
_“I had pictures and videos of the boys as babies on there. Dash was still a little eevee.”_  
“Aww, Spark, I’m sorry… Maybe there’s a way to, I dunno, hack your stuff back?”

He sounds so heartbroken, you fan your face and look up at the ceiling, counting backwards from ten to keep from tearing up in sympathy.

_“I’m sorry, but I don’t have access to my bank or anything. I won’t be able to pay rent on time. This is so not what you needed.”_  
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get your life back together and we can work it out then. But what are you going to do about other stuff?”  
_“Company card and work it out later? Kinda have no choice.”_ He makes a frustrated sound. _“That was my favourite jacket…”_  
“Hey, it’s going to be ok.”  
_“I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”_  
“Just get yourself back on track first, ok? I gotta go.”

You slam the END CALL button. You could think of a few ways for Spark to make it up to you, and none of them were work-safe. You blow out a breath and fan your face before leaving the room.

  


You come home later that week, disappointed by the date you’d just had, and somewhat drunk. If that schmo was going to talk your ear off about his rubber stamp collection, then he was paying for your therapeutic booze. You try to grip the wall to get your dressy heels off and feel the world sway. The floor looks like it wants a fight, and then you’re tumbling over sideways onto it. A call from the living room sounds like Spark, and then his feet are approaching.

“Hey, you ok? Did you lose your balance on those things?”  
“Yeah, I dunno, the world just kind of went, like… whoosh~”

Spark gets you back upright, but watching you wobble makes him hover a hand nearby to catch you. Why is he looking at you like that? You go back to trying to get your shoe off. Why is this so difficult?

“Have you been drinking?”  
“Had to.”  
“Bad date?”  
“Yes. You know what? Yes! Woah, stop turning.”  
“I’m not turning, but you’re kind of falling –just hold onto my shoulder, I got this.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders –big, strong shoulders- and giggle as he grabs your calf up and starts fumbling your other heel off, holding your leg against his thigh like you were a wobbly foal getting their first shoes.

“I bet you could carry me. You definitely work out.”  
“Yeah, I probably could.”  
“How tall are you?”  
“6’2, I think.”  
“That’s like… wow.”  
“How does this strap come off?”  
“It’s a fake latch thingie. You unhook it.”  
“Huh? Latch thingie? …Oh, I see what you mean.”

You reach down to try and be helpful, but standing on one leg drunk is too much coordination for one night, and you start toppling again. Spark shouts and rises to catch you, forgetting that he’s still holding your ankle. The end result has you awkwardly flopped against him, mostly unaware of your dress falling down and showing too much cleavage.

“Wow, your eyes are really, really blue. Like, bluer than the sky, blue.”  
“I’m going to pretend you’re not flirting with me, and you know what? Let’s just carry you somewhere you’re not going to fall and crack your head open.”  
“Flirting?”

You giggle, and then squeak as he scoops you up like a bride and hauls you into the apartment.

“Spark, oh my god, don’t drop me!”  
“I won’t, you weigh like five pounds.”

He gives you a playful bounce and it turns your fear into giggles again.

“Ok, let’s go to the sofa.”  
“Whee, sofa!”

With you plopped down on the sofa, he sits on the floor and puts your shoe on his knee to try and figure out how to unlatch it. You reach down to touch his hair.

“Wow, your hair is really soft.”  
“Thanks.”  
“No, like, this is baby-soft. Oh, my god, I can’t stop touching it. How is this your hair?”  
“No idea.”  
“It’s so soft~”

The latch finally relents and your foot is freed. With both hands in Spark’s hair, it’s easy to lean forward, elbows on knees, and kiss him.

At first he seems resistant, maybe startled, but he doesn’t pull away. He seems content to let you kiss him, but he isn’t kissing back, which is kind of weird. Really getting mixed vibes here. You back off to draw breath and ask, and he caresses your calf and leans in to reciprocate. Your alcohol-drenched brain wonders if you scared him, or maybe don’t kiss as well as you thought, but he’s kissing back, now. That’s good.

Stupidly, you want to murmur about how his lips are even softer than his hair.

He keeps his hand on your knee, but one of his fingers keeps stroking your skin, and it’s ticklish, and really nice, and you’re starting to feel really warm. Is it warm in here? His hand touches your neck and he sort of gingerly pries your mouth open with his thumb on your chin. Oh. _Oh._

Are you moaning? You are definitely moaning. That moan was all you. Your hands in his hair pull him closer, between your knees and probably hiking up this dress too far, but oh, his hand on your knee is moving again, moving up and up. His tongue is doing things inside your mouth that make you feel even warmer, and hey, is it horny in here or just you? He pauses for a moment, gasping against your mouth, and you’re breathing kind of hard, too, but just the sound of him breathing this close to you sounds sexy as hell.

“Well, don’t stop there.”

He laughs and climbs closer, pulling your hips forward and sending you back into a sort of recline. You eagerly find his mouth again. The warmth of him so close over you is making your insides shiver and shake. One hand leaves his hair to feel down his chest, down his stomach for the edge of his shirt. Is that it? You pull the fabric and press your hand underneath –oh _yes!_ Skin! His stomach -you know from plenty of not-so-accidental glances as he leaves the bathroom in that _fucking towel_ \- ripples with muscle and trembles at the feel of your fingertips. You wonder if your touch is ticklish, or if he’s generally ticklish. His breath hitches, and you can hear it and feel it as it happens, and hey, was that a little moan?

But he’s moving away from your mouth and nuzzling under your jaw, and you let your head fall back as much as the sofa cushions will allow. Hell yes, this is good. Another moan as he kisses the side of your neck, and the twitchy tingling between your legs says it’s time to go, let’s go, let’s do this. You try to guide his head, and he follows your lead, and now his tongue is on your ear, and you’re gasping and trying to wriggle your hips against him because damn that feels good. You bite your lip and imagine what his mouth would feel like elsewhere.

You move your hand higher, following his ribs, the rhythm of his breathing. He makes a sound that definitely qualifies as a giggle and it makes you smile and turn to kiss his jawline. Feeling around blind, you know you’ve found a nipple when he gasps and twitches. Oh, yeah; definitely ticklish, this one. You can’t help giggling when you make him twitch again and he turns his head to mildly glare at you for a heartbeat before kissing you again.

But that’s all there is, and eventually you simmer down to just cuddling, and then next thing you know, there’s a shrill chiming from across the room and everything is confusion and panic and you’re cold, and Spark is leaving, why is Spark leaving?

Your arm is asleep, and your back is kinked from laying weirdly on the sofa, so the best you can do is first figure out why you’re cold.

Your dress is hiked. Oh. Did Spark see your panties? (If yes, you wonder if he liked them.)

The room is bright with daylight and your head feels like an angry mankey is throwing rocks at the inside of it. Spark is making his holocaster shut up, and hey, he’s shirtless. When did that happen?

“What-?”

A very apropos greeting. Spark turns to you and damn, he looks even better half naked in the daylight.

“Just my alarm. You should go to bed, though.”  
“Oh. It was nice having you here.”

Not that there was much having of anything, but it seems like the right thing to say. You figure Spark agrees, because he’s turning an adorable shade of pink.

“I-it was nice, yeah. You’re ok with it?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Like, this doesn’t have to mean anything.”  
“Can you kiss me and help me up?”

He obliges, helping you upright, and then to your feet.

“You sure you’re ok?”  
“Can we have the weird talk later? I want to go back to sleep.”

You hold his shoulders and lean on tip-toe to kiss him. You don’t care that your lipstick is smeared all over his face. But you’re too headachy and sleepy to push for more, so you back away and head to your room to catch a few more hours of sleep before your own alarm goes off.

You’re tired and moderately hung-over at work, and the only real motivation to get you through the day is knowing lunch is paid for by the company today. You feel rather human after that.

That decent mood becomes tinged with doubt as you walk home. Why _did_ Spark resist at first? Were you out of bounds? In all fairness, you were kind of drunk, but then he kissed back, too. So what gives? A thought stops you cold.

Was Spark a virgin?

It’s so radical and out there you feel like you may have just solved the big bang theory. Content with your assumption, you continue on home. Your eevee barks and circles around you, tail wagging and ears twitching. You run a bath and toss in a fizzy bomb, not sure of the actual health benefits, but it gives the water a violet cloudiness and fills the room with the scent of roses. You brush out your hair and bring your holocaster to the tub, mindful not to let it fall in.

You lay back in the rosy bubbles and catch up on social media, thinking little about anything. It’s so nice to have quiet, and a hot bath, and nobody around. Whatever remnants of the night before were surely being soaked away.

The front door slams and you sigh.

A naughty nugget of a thought presents itself –maybe Spark would like to join?- and is immediately followed by cold disapproval.

You are attracted to your roommate. You made out with him last night. What the fuck, girlfriend?  
Hey, he said it didn’t mean anything.  
Of course he did, he’s a guy. This is the perfect escape route.  
Well, maybe I liked it, and maybe he did, too.  
You need to get laid.  
…That’s out of bounds, and you know it.  
Truth hurts. And he’s hot.  
I thought you were trying to shame me for liking him.  
You don’t. You lust for him. One ride, maybe three, and you’ll be over him.  
So? He’s a guy.  
And what if he’s a guy with more than dick for brains, huh? What then?  
I don’t think I like your attitude.

You mope and hang an arm out of the tub and rest your chin on it. Your logical self did have a point. And, hypothetically speaking, if you did follow last night’s delicious make-out session to completion… what then? You still lived together. What if he thought this meant easy convenience whenever either of you were alone? What if he was already with someone _-no, I don’t want to be the Other Woman!_

Your bath is cooling off, and you’re starting to get pruny. You pull the plug and get the shower running.

Spark’s on the balcony, grooming Dash, his jolteon. His pikachu, Boomer, is perched on the railing, chattering what you can only assume are instructions. You head to the kitchen to reheat the doggy-bag you smuggled home from lunch and pull the towel off your head to mop water from your ears. Through the kitchen window cracked open, you can hear Boomer sounding exasperated and yammering at Spark and Dash. It makes you smile.

“Enough already! I know what I’m doing, Boomer!”  
“Chu, pikapi pichu pika pikachu pika!”  
“Yes he does, he’s fine with this. Stop being so bossy.”

That makes you laugh aloud, and the argument abruptly stops, and you wonder if they heard you. The sliding door opens and Dash prances in, pauses in the hallway to give himself a good shake. All his neatly-combed fur clumps into static-charged spikes again and, apparently satisfied, he heads off to do his own thing.

“Babies being bad?”  
“Oh, Boomer invented pokemon care, don’t you know?”

You laugh again and take your meal to the kitchen table.

“How’s the re-identification thing going?”  
“They’re supposed to call me at any point next week. I shouldn’t complain, they did fast-track me because I’m a gym leader, but…”  
“Yeah. You want your life back now.”  
“Among other things. That was my favorite jacket.”  
“Maybe it’ll turn up in a pawn shop or something.”  
“Maybe.”

He pulls up a chair and sits across from you. His hair looks slightly frizzed and goosebumps cover his bare arms.

“Um, so… What happened last night?”  
“I kissed you.”  
“You were kind of drunk.”  
“So? You still kissed back.” You give him a moment to process that, and then ask: “Why did you hesitate?”

He looks away, starting to turn pink.

“You surprised me.”  
“What do you think we should do about this?”

The room is uncomfortably quiet. You get up to get a drink.

“Come on, Spark, talk to me. You’re the one who looked nervous this morning. So clearly this is a thing, at least for you. What’s on your mind?”

He runs a hand nervously through his hair, and it crackles faintly. How odd.

“It’s… been a while. It was nice. I guess I kind of forgot how nice it could be.”  
“Making out?”  
“Cuddling and kissing. Yeah.”  
“Oh, cause I was kind of worried you were just taking advantage of me drunk.”

Your grin is met with disgust and horror. _Ok, note to self; never make non-con jokes about Spark._

“Kidding! I’m totally aware of everything that happened. And it was really nice. But… just curious, and don’t read into it too much when I ask but, uh, why did you say it doesn’t have to mean anything?”  
“Oh, that? Well I figured you might feel like… not pressured?”

You laugh, and slam the bottle of soda on the counter to keep from spilling it.

“Are you kidding?! No!”  
“No?”  
“Ten on ten, Spark. Would do it again. Like, only if you wanted to, too.”  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”  
“Why not? Is there anyone in your life that might object?”  
“Is there in yours? This all happened because you were fed up of your date and drank too much.”  
“Ok, first of all, I know I had exactly five martinis, and dinner. I wasn’t stupid levels of drunk. Stop judging that. And second, yeah! My date sucked. But then I came home to you!”

The kitchen becomes a whole new level of quiet. In your excitement to have this discussion with Spark, you’d destroyed the can of worms –exploded it all over the kitchen. and now the two of you were covered in it and staring at each other like you were waiting for the other to pull a gun.

“Ok, ok, sorry. I just really wanted to be sure you were ok with this and not going to like, report me for assault or something.”  
“Oh my god, Spark. Seriously?”

He looks thoroughly embarrassed and you feel your irritation turn to a bit of sadness. He unfortunately has a point, and part of you wishes it could get your hands on whatever bitch put that thought in his head. _If him kissing me is assault, then I should be locked away forever for what I think about doing to him._ You finish pouring your drink and return the bottle to the fridge. The glass joins you at the table, but instead of taking your seat, you go over to Spark’s side: one hand on the back of his chair and the other on the table, and you lean over him, putting your face level with his.

“I’m not mad. I’m not going to have you written up. But I’m kind of sad to hear what you just said. That’s not the Spark I know.”  
“You’re right, that isn’t me.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t look away. Damn, his eyes are _so_ blue. It’d be really nice to kiss him sober, like, for comparison. _For science!_ Is he moving closer, or are you? You tilt your head and make good on closing the rest of the distance between you when a sharp sting smacks your mouth and you both jerk apart in surprise, you yelping and covering your mouth to save it from further assault. Wide-eyed you look around for the source, and then it hits you.

“Your hair!”  
“Are you ok?”  
“Your hair’s full of static, probably from Dash.”  
“Shit, I forgot about that.”

He pulls a cloth from his back pocket and rubs it briskly over his arms, chest, and finally hair. You’re not sure what it’s for, aside from making him look like a mess, but his hair isn’t standing on end anymore, and his goosebumps have dissipated.

“Are you safe?”  
“Yeah, I should be fine now. Sorry. That was a real zinger.”

You both start laughing and he reaches for you. You tumble sideways into his lap, and you’re rather aware that you’re not wearing a bra and your whole body has broken out in goosebumps thanks to Spark’s sparks.

“Did it get you here?” He pecks your nose and you shake your head.  
“No, it was more like over here.” You demonstrate by kissing his upper lip.  
“Oh, I see where.”

He kisses you full on the mouth, and it’s even better than you remember from last night. Science, take note. His hands are warm, and they soothe the goosebumps on your arms. Part of you wants to grab his hand and put it on your chest, but you figure you’ve moved fast enough for twenty-four hours. If kissing was going to need a discussion, you weren’t sure what groping or more would need. An affidavit and mother’s maiden name. Probably a sworn testimony. You really hope he’s not going to be fussy about doing more, but the kissing sure is nice.

By the time you manage to break free of each other, your hair’s almost dry, and your yoga pants are covered in jolteon fur. Your lasagna needs reheating again.

  


Out one night with a guy you’ve been not-seriously dating, things start to turn serious when he invites you home. You agree. You could do with some attention. His name is Fen, and he’s alright-looking; works in financial something-or-other, so he’s pretty well-off as evidenced by his really posh condo. You feel out of place just being in it, but he’s stroking your neck as he leads you in and oh, look at that, there goes the living room. Guess we’re not getting the grand tour.

He’s a good kisser, you have to give him that. And his bed is luxuriously comfortable, not that you’re on it long. He pulls up your skirt and pulls down your panties in record time, and his fingers do the bare minimum, but it’s touch, and your body wants this even if your mind is drifting astray. He not-so-subtly directs you to his lap, but you’re wearing your expensive Kalosian lipstick today, and his dick doesn’t need it. He presses your head forward when his patience with your hand is wearing thin, and you glare and bat it away. He gets the message.

More kissing and Fen rolls you over, legs straddling him. You take the lead, eager to have anything between your legs if it quells your frustrations. At least on top you can pleasure yourself easier. You’re trying to think about anything that turns you on as you take him in, mindful not to go all the way because he’s too lazy to work you out first. A hand goes between your thighs and you begin to move. His hands reach for your hips and you worry he’s going to pull you down harder, but he’s polite about it, and merely holds you steady.

The thought of your roommate comes to mind suddenly. It’s a fantasy you’ve been working on for a while now, playing it out when you need a little help getting off, but this is the first time you’ve been with someone when it came up. The background is cheap and interchangeable, but the end result is Spark fucking you senseless. Nobody knows, nobody needs to know, and it’s harmless.

It’s pretty easy to replace the guy you’re with, with your blonde-haired, blue-eyed gym leader rent-buddy. Closing your eyes, it’s easy to imagine his hand is on your hip right now, the other teasing your clit. You wonder how big he is, if you can take him. Your fantasy shifts and now you’re picturing Spark’s head between your legs, mouth and fingers knowing just where to tease to get you off. It’s working; you’re getting hot and every imaginary lick of his tongue sends a jolt down your body. You can feel your breathing coming faster and sharper.

“Oh, yeah, you like it?”  
“Mmm, feels good,” you purr, but you’re the only one who knows you’re not talking to the guy you’re riding.

You’re getting really wet now, and taking in your date’s dick all the way doesn’t feel like such a chore. You find yourself wishing it _was_ Spark underneath you, and the instant you think it, you can picture it so clearly that you shudder and have to pause for breath. You’re so close to coming, and all you can think of is your roommate? What the hell is wrong with you?

“Almost there, honey. Want me to take over?”

You pick up where you left off, confused but horny and honestly, this is the first guy you’ve had since moving, so you’re going to enjoy it however you can. You put aside your guilt and confusion and just go with it. In your mind, you’re riding Spark, and he’s clutching your hips and moaning as you work both of you to completion. You’re moaning aloud, now, gasping and focused entirely on your own pleasure. Your heart’s pounding and your fingers know just what to do as your hips jerk and stutter, so close, so close, so—

You cry out and feel your body spasm and you stop moving as you lose coordination for a moment.

“What did you call me?”

Your euphoria is interrupted like a balloon popping right in your face and you actually jump a little.

“What-?”  
“Spark, oh my god?”

Your face pales and you feel your heart thud sharply against your ribcage.

“Did I-? Um, no, it’s just this…”  
“Other guy? You know, I figured as much since we didn’t talk about being serious, but damn, girl? Right when I’m about to nut? You’re killing me.”

You’re officially too embarrassed to continue anything and sheepishly get off Fen’s lap to scamper into the adjacent bathroom. He flings your panties in after you and that’s about as much farewell as you know you deserve at this point. He’s not on the bed when you creep out of the bathroom again, and you silently grab your coat and purse and leave. As you’re waiting for the elevator down, you count your money and hope you’ve got enough for a cab home.

Spark’s asleep when you get in, and the apartment is dark and quiet. Boomer meets you at the door and you bend to pet him on the head after you get your shoes off. You stop in the bathroom to get your makeup off and pee again for good measure, then head to your room and shut the door. You don’t hear from Fen again, and you can’t blame him. It makes you feel sad and a bit guilty, but it also makes you realize you and Spark might have a problem.

No, _you_ have a problem. Spark’s flawless.  
Do I deserve someone like him? I just called his name while I was riding another man!  
I think that’s proof you deserve exactly him.  
There is no way I am ever saying anything about this to anyone.  
Maybe you should talk to Spark?  
No way. None. Never.  
You’re being hysterical, kinda.  
No, this is the proper amount of guilt and embarrassment I should be feeling right now.  
Ok, but imagine if you really could ride him-  
ENOUGH.  
…  
…Please. I’m tired. I don’t want to think about this. Like, ever.  
Damn, bitch, shut me down. Just saying what’s good for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	2. Dad material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babies.  
> Babies everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a Pokemon fanfic without actual Pokemon, y'know, _stuff_.
> 
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

You turn the deadbolt and start removing your outerwear, sniffling from the cold. It’s a Wednesday, which means Spark’s off, but you’re surprised he’s actually home. You hold still and listen to his voice down the hall. Is he arguing with someone? A cursory glance around the entrance doesn’t show any foreign footwear. Maybe he’s on the phone? Jacket hung, you pick up your bag and head to your room to set it aside. Your eevee barks and you step out to see what has him agitated.

“Your mom’s home. Now you’re in for it.”

Spark’s sitting on the living room floor in front of a large cardboard box, surrounded by Halloween decorations. He’s got Earl Fluffins held up to eye-level, giving him a stern look.

“Are you picking on my little fluff?”  
“He started it!”  
“Well, you’re digging in a box. Two things he loves are boxes and anything that makes a sound when it moves.”  
“Fluffins, control yourself. I’ll let you have the box when I’m done with it.”

Your pet yips, apparently unsatisfied with this concession. You snicker and come forward to claim him.

“Come on, let’s feed you and leave Spark to decorate.”  
“Vee!”  
“Yeah, come on! Good boy, come to the kitchen!”

He wriggles free of Spark’s grip and tumbles into the box. He pauses and looks about. Then, like a flash, he’s bounding out of the box and skidding across the living room floor. A garland of paper ghosts and bells trails after him, the cording tangled around his haunches. You try to snatch him, but he’s too quick for you. The jingling startles him more, and he scurries for the nearest hiding place: under the sofa.

“Aw, darn. Poor little guy’s scared himself.”  
“Should work on training you both.”  
“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”  
“Well, he needs better socialization and obedience. I bet being abandoned made him really anxious.”  
“But why do _I_ need training?”  
“To learn how to care for your pokemon. Have you ever had an eevee before?”  
“Well… no? But they’re such popular pets, how hard could it be?”  
“Normally, not hard. Most people get them as babies and they imprint and learn by observation. Earl’s all grown up so you’ve missed that chance.”  
“Ugh, I hate that name.”  
“I don’t think he’s a fan of it either. Imagine you don’t like your name, and neither does your boss. Would you feel like being friendly?”  
“So, you’re saying I have to give him a name he likes?”  
“Or just pick one you actually like. They can feel our emotions. If you’re happy to call his name, he’ll learn that’s who he is and become happy to respond to it.”

You want to be miffed at Spark for saying you need training, but his logic adds up. True enough, you weren’t all that close to your eevee; most of the time he was home alone, seeing you only a handful of hours a day before work or when you got home. You’d always just assumed he was independent and aloof –figured he would come around to you when he felt like getting attention. But Spark’s words were a papercut, and though far from deadly, they hurt all the same. It had been months since you had gone to the shelter and picked out the tawny little furball, knowingly choosing one that didn’t seem too needy since you were apt to be away from home so much. In all that time, short of feeding and occasionally petting your pet, you knew little about him or how to properly care for him.

Spark’s digging through the box again, uninterrupted. You glance around at the decorations all over the floor.

“You sure have a lot of Halloween stuff.”  
“You don’t mind if I decorate, do you?”  
“No, just… don’t go nuts. No pranks, no gross stuff, ok?”  
“Ok, sure.”

You gnaw your lip a little, looking at the growing mess and the trail of garland leading under your sofa.

“Um, so… You obviously know a lot about pokemon.”  
“Mm, yeah, I know some stuff.”  
“Would you, I dunno, teach me? If you have time, that is.”

Spark glances at you and looks a bit surprised.

“Teach you about pokemon? Like, all of them?”  
“Oh, no. I meant just eevee.”  
“Ah. Yeah, sure.”  
“Cause I guess you’re right. I don’t know much about eevee or pokemon. You just made me think, maybe he’s not happy, or lonely, and I don’t know how to change that.”

Spark smiles that boyband poster smile of his and you wish your blush had an off button.

“Yeah, I’d love to help!”  
“Ok, thanks.”  
“Why don’t you get his food and we can coax him out of there.”  
“Oh, right now?”  
“Yeah, gotta start some time.”

Right, of course. You go scoop a bowl of kibble and return with it, finding a pathway to the sofa cleared. Spark’s wriggling one of the garland spooks in front of the hidey-hole and tugging it away when a paw darts out to bat at it.

“He won’t come out?”  
“I think he wants to play. Grab some garland and join us.”

You give the festive cording a tug and feel your eevee yank back. Spark tries to grab him on the other side of the sofa but misses when your pet darts back the other way.

“Yeah, I think he’s playing us.”  
“Ah, he just hit me with his paw!”  
“Can you reach him?”  
“No, he’s being a brat and staying right in the middle.”

The bowl of kibble is set safely on the coffee table. You dangle a bit of loose garland in front of the sofa and wriggle it enticingly, making the bells jingle and the paper ghosts twirl and dance. Bending over, face nearly on the floor, you can spot a pair of golden-brown orbs staring back. And then they’re charging forward and a paw swipes your nose before you can sit up. You fall over giggling, hands covering your face.

“He stole your nose!”  
“Avenge me!”

By the time you sit up, Spark’s wrestled your eevee out from under the sofa. The garlands are rustling and jingling and it looks like they’re becoming more tangled. Suddenly Spark yelps and your smile becomes concern.

“What happened?”  
“He’s biting me, oh, the vicious tiny hunter!”  
“Bad Fluffins, don’t bite! Spark, let him go. Are you ok?”

Except Spark’s laughing. You missed that part. He’s also rough-housing the little monster.

“Stop. If he’s biting you-”  
“It’s fine, I’m exaggerating. Makes him think he’s tougher than he is.”

There’s something incredibly appealing in watching him play-fight your pokemon. Your eevee rolls against your leg, huffing excitedly, and kicks back for traction. You reach down to tickle a foot. He mewls and swats at you.

“Did you miss getting to play? Maybe I should play with you more.”  
“Yeah, he’s loving this. Grahh, attack my hand~”  
“Vee!”  
“Oho?”  
“Oh my, are you a sore loser?”  
“Can you untangle him? I’ll hold him.”  
“I’ll try.”

Spark doesn’t seem to mind the biting, and he’s remarkably good at holding down the squirmy little body. Your hands are shaking a bit, and more than once you retreat, afraid of pulling the cords the wrong way and causing harm. There’s an awful lot of noise, and you hope Spark’s not too attached to these garlands, because they’ve lost a few pieces already.

“He’s not biting hard, don’t worry.”

You take your gaze off your work for an instant. Spark’s lightly grabbing your pet’s snout and letting him chomp on his hand. Those big brown eyes are alive with predatory glee, tail puffed up and little growls and whines punctuating between bites. Spark’s smile looks a little sad. You go back to trying to slip a loop of cord off a kicking haunch.

“Are you thinking about Dash?”  
“Mm. He was like this as a kit.”  
“A what?”  
“Eevee are part of the fox family, so their babies are called kits.”  
“Oh, I never knew that. Was Dash also this bitey?”  
“Only when he was teething –Ow! Hey, jingle-jangle, that one hurt.”  
“Jingle-jangle… That’s a cute name.”

Spark still hadn’t gotten his holocaster back –you wondered if he ever would. You didn’t quite share the same zeal for pokemon, but you understood his sadness at never getting those early memories back. It had to be comparable to a parent losing their child’s mementos. A paper ghost tumbles free of its chain and you pluck it up.

“Fluff, look here, a toy! Boo!” You hover it closer, giving it a little sway. “Boo~oo… Mwah!”

The ghost lands on tiny black nose with an exaggerated kiss.

“That’s it!”  
“Eh?”

Spark reaches to pluck off some of the cording from his lap, lifting Earl Fluffins aloft in one hand like it was easy to hold a giddy eevee. His own ghosts seem to have retreated for now.

“Jingle-jangle and boo!”  
“That sounds like a book store.”  
“Wait, no. I mean… Yes, you’re right, actually. Weird.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“I just thought of a great name! Something like Jingle-Boo.”  
“That’s cute. Too bad he’s not a ghost-type. I don’t even want to know if eevees can turn ghost.”  
“Uh, Jingle… spook? Spooky? No, that’s not it…”  
“Are you trying to combine the words?”  
“No, I had a name right on the tip of my tongue.”

You open your mouth to smartass that statement, and promptly reel in the words before they reach your lips.

“What about Jangle-Boo?”  
“Or Boo-Jangle! That’s it! Bojangles!”  
“Bojangles? Is he a spook, or a blues legend?”  
“You don’t like it?”  
“It’s… different.”  
“What do you think, buddy? Earl Fluffins, or Bojangles?”  
“Ee-vuie.”  
“What does that mean?”  
“No idea. But I don’t think he likes the first, so maybe the second is the better option.”  
“Bojangles. Bojangles, do you want to be called Bojangles? Is it weird to you?”

You reach out to pet him and he bumps his nose into your hand. Spark coos and kisses his head.

“I guess it could grow on me. Or rather, on him.”  
“Beats the hell out of Earl Fluffins.”  
“Seriously. It’s such a rich old lady name.”  
“Here.”

Spark passes you your eevee, tentatively now renamed Bojangles, and deftly gathers the remaining garlands off in one swoop. You wish you’d thought of that.

“Tadaa~ All free.”  
“Yay, let’s go feed you and let Spark decorate.”

You stand, Bojangles in one hand and reach for the kibble on the table. He yips and struggles anew at the suggestion of food. You giggle and head for the hallway to the kitchen.

“Alright, alright. You’ll get your proper food so you can stop eating hands.”  
“I didn’t mind,” Spark calls back.

You set the bowl down followed by Bojangles himself and roll your eyes when your pet attacks the kibble like he hasn’t seen food in weeks. Satisfied he’ll be busy for a few minutes, you head to your room to change and put your hair up in a clip. After washing off your makeup, you return to the living room to see what Spark’s got planned. He’s working on putting decals on the patio doors.

“Hey, if you ever want, you can play with him, too. I know we’re both not home much, but maybe between the two of us, he won’t feel so lonely.”

He looks at you and smiles, but it looks a little more sad than happy, and you’re sure he’s still thinking about all those missing photos. You don’t know what to say or do to fix that.

“I’d like that.”  
“Are your hands alright?”  
“Hm? No big deal. Just little scratches.”  
“Did you want help putting stuff up, or is it like, your thing?”  
“I was going to put some lights around the windows, so I could use a hand.”

He gives you a few decals. You study what he’s put up so far and try to follow the same arrangement.

“Do you have a costume picked out yet?”  
“Me? Mmno. I’m not sure we’re allowed to dress up at work.”  
“Are they that strict?”  
“Well, no. But I don’t want to be the only one, either. Kind of awkward.”  
“No costume parties?”  
“I dunno. Do you dress up?”  
“Always. But I’m not sure what I’ll be yet.”  
“What were you last year?”  
“I forget… Wait, no. I was a mad scientist, I think.”  
“A mad scientist?”  
“Yeah, I had Dash do my hair all crazy and got a lab coat and some gooey paint to splatter all over it. Kinda worked out; my date ended up dressing like a zombie.”  
“Oh, that sounds fun.”  
“You should dress up.”  
“But I’m not doing anything.”  
“I take some of the neighbourhood kids trick-or-treating. You could come along.”  
“You, trick-or-treating?”

You can’t help snickering at the mental image. 6’2 Spark surrounded by knee-high tots with plastic pumpkin baskets.

“I don’t keep all of it…”

Spark mumbles and a glance at him before he turns away you see a bit of pink creeping up his face. It’s so cute you can’t help laughing. You let yourself get suckered into both dressing up, and going trick-or-treating with him and a herd of children. You spend the rest of the evening decorating and bantering costume ideas back and forth.

 

It’s a long weekend, the weather is chilling faster than you care to prepare for, and everywhere you look are cheery couples. You’re absolutely sick of pumpkin-spiced everything. Your date had pulled some flimsy excuse out of his ass earlier that afternoon to cancel on you. Your boss left early to pick up her puking kid from daycare, telling your team they were free to vote about staying late to get the work done or leave early and put in the half day tomorrow. It was an unfortunate fact that your team had fallen behind and were exhausted with trying to catch up. You couldn’t be less entertained by the season if someone offered you a free root canal.

While trudging up the stairs to your apartment, hurried footsteps coming down cause you to sidestep and make way on the landing. It’s Spark descending, with a large bag on his shoulder and a happily surprised look on his face.

“Let me guess. You’re off to a sleepover.”

Your own lack of enthusiasm makes you reel a bit inside. _Daaamn, rain on his parade, too. Bitch._

“Yeah! Can’t wait, this could happen any day now. She’s been getting restless and plucking her feathers.”  
“…Wait, what?”  
“Dusty’s about to hatch her first brood, I’m so excited for her, I just know she’ll be a great mom, and I don’t want to miss a second, because she’s never done this, and I hope everything goes well, oh god, I hope none of the eggs are duds, she’ll be so upset-”  
“Oh. Hatching eggs. Right.”

For a second there, you thought he was talking about a date. Like a sexy sleep-over date. You’re weirdly so relieved it’s just his bird pokemon. Spark’s grinning and bouncing with all the exuberance of a kid about to dive head-first into birthday cake and presents.

“I’ll be staying over until they’re hatched, so the place is all yours for the next few days. Have fun!”

Without warning, he pecks you on the lips and turns to run downstairs, yelling a farewell just before the door slams at street level.

“Yeah, ok, bye.”

You find Spark’s room is an uncommon mess and decide to just close the door and not think about it. Bojangles is asleep on the sofa in a patch of the dying day’s sunlight. He pulls away when you try to pet him and curls up tighter. Fine, you think a little bitterly. Be that way.

With nothing and no one to bother you, no plans, and no hope of sleeping in tomorrow because your team chose to go home early today, you run a bath and pour a glass of wine. Fuck it all, you’re going to turn this lemon of a day into lemonade if it kills you.

You’re well into checking social media and listening to an audiobook when you realize two things: you’re out of wine, and everyone else is posting about family dinners. And here you are, home alone. And though family dinners were comparable to slamming a door on your hand, you find yourself wishing you weren’t alone this weekend. You start typing a message to a friend you haven’t heard from in a while when an alert flashes across the top of your screen. You tap it. It’s from Spark.

_Hey_  
Hi  
_Sorry I ran off, I’m just excited. Is everything ok?_  
It’s fine. Hope your bird’s ok.  
_She’s doing great._  
_You looked really down earlier…_  
I’m tired. Kind of pissed. Date cancelled on me  & gotta work tomorrow  
_That sucks. What you going to do then?_  
Chill on my own and go to bed early I guess  
_No family plans?_  
My family are all on the other side of the region  
_Friends?_  
Most of them have a family thing.  
_Sorry, I’m not doing a very good job trying to cheer you up. :(_  
It’s fine. I’m fine. Bojangles is fine, too.

A video screen pops up as you’re typing and your finger hits ACCEPT before you remember you’re wet and naked. You nearly drop your holocaster on the tiles and duck down behind the wall of the tub, hiding your chest.

_“Stop, don’t play with that.”_  
_“Pikaa?”_

Boomer’s face fills the screen and you can’t help snorting. He seems to see you and reaches forward to paw the screen.

“Hey, Boomer.”  
_“Pikaa pichu!”_

And then Spark’s shooing him away and swearing loudly, and the video promptly cuts off.

_OMG I’M SORRY_

You laugh at that –a really ugly snorting laugh- and pick your holocaster back up off the floor.

Lol it’s cool  
_That was all Boomer. I swear I saw nothing!_  
There wasn’t anything to see lol  
Does Boomer use your caster a lot?  
_He’s a crafty little guy. Pikachu are scary smart_  
I see that  
_I’ll let you go. Sorry to intrude on your bath._  
I could talk  
_I’m worried he might grab my caster again!_  
LOL!  
Scared of some boobies?  
_They’re your boobs_  
Not a breast man?  
_Don’t really have a preferred body part…_  
You sure about that?  
_If I like someone, I like all of them. No point trying to change them._  
It’s not about changing, it’s just the stuff you like  
_What stuff do you like?_

A grin lights up your face and you bite your lip. Oh, this could get interesting…

I like… Strong shoulders. Warm hands.  
_Those are nice things. You have good taste._  
A great stomach is nice, too. Soft, full lips.  
_Mysterious eyes always get me_  
Mysterious? Like evil?  
_No like_  
_I don’t know how to describe it. But not evil!_  
Mysteriously sexy?  
_Sexy… pretty… Like when you can’t tell what they’re thinking, but when you get to know them, it’s clear as water._  
That’s beautiful. Are you a writer?  
_Haha no but thanks!_  
_Seriously, I should go. Talk tm_

Well, that was disappointingly short. Just when things were getting fun!

You’ve fallen two chapters behind on your audiobook and social media is just depressing at this point, so you lock your holocaster’s screen and set it aside to shower and get out of the tub. Dinner is leftovers and salad, paired with some animated movie about a cooking raticate. You think about taking cooking classes and dismiss the thought when you realize they’re all for couples and expensive.

 

Your boss shows up the next morning with coffee and pastries for everyone. Even though it’s Saturday, it’s easy to work without anyone else around to interrupt and by lunchtime you’re caught up enough to call it a day. You’re glad it didn’t take up your whole day and start thinking about what to do with your afternoon as you’re all filing out, much more excited to leave than you were to arrive that morning. Your holocaster has a few messages racked up. One’s a voicemail transcription from your mother wishing you a good holiday and offering to pay your train ticket back home if you can make it for dinner. You text her back that you’re working this weekend. (You were lonely, not desperate.) Another one is from your friend Rose. You head to the supermarket a block away to pick up a few things and call her back as you’re making your way along the aisles.

“Hey Rosie, what’s up?”  
_“Hi. Did you get my text?”_  
“Yeah, thanks. That’s really sweet of you, but I can’t intrude.”  
_“No intrusion, it’s just Bliz and me. Nothing formal, I promise.”_  
“Are you sure? I don’t want to make things weird.”  
_“It’s not weird! Stop trying to make it weird. Be here at seven. Don’t bring anything.”_  
“I’m in the supermarket right now. You sure you don’t need anything?”  
_“No, we’re good. Between my cooking now, and the leftovers from last night at Bliz’s mom’s, we’re going to be eating leftovers all freaking week.”_

You laugh and feel much happier than you did last night. You agree to go, and pick up a little potted succulent because going over empty-handed just feels wrong, and you know Rose is really into the little plants lately. While you’re waiting in the check-out line, you note another alert and open that app. It’s a video of a pidgeot on a nest –damn, that’s a huge bird, you think- gently plucking shards of shell from under her and suddenly a damp little pidgey head pops up and cheeps. You hear Spark’s voice but the sound is low so you don’t bother anyone around you. His hand reaches out to stroke the big bird’s beak and Spark leans into the frame to smile and wave at the camera. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night, and he’s got the biggest possible grin ever, but his face looks wet and you wonder if he’s been crying. You cover your mouth to suppress a giggle.

He looks the type to cry.  
You’d think he was the dad. Aww, this is so sweet.  
Imagine if he actually became a dad to a human child?  
I think he’d be a good dad, I mean look how dedicated he is.  
You two would have amazing children.  
WHAT? NO.  
It could happen.  
It’ll never happen.  
He’d so be there letting you break his hand during labor, and he’d smile the whole time.  
OH MY GOD, WHY.  
I hope they have his gorgeous blue eyes.  
PLEASE STOP.  
What? It’s perfectly natural. He’s clearly dad material and he’s flaunting it and you’re so in love with this concept.  
WE AREN’T EVEN DATING.  
And whose fault is that?  
I don’t want to have his kids.  
Liar.  
…I hate you so much right now.  
Well, you won’t be having any kids if you don’t practice.  
What the fuck.  
Yes, that.  
I HATE YOU SHUT UP, SHUT UP!

You throw your holocaster back in your bag and make a point to avoid eye contact with anyone as your bill is totalled and bagged. You’re too afraid someone will comment on how red your face has gotten or worse, somehow read your thoughts and know your awful secret.

It’s not _that_ awful.  
It’s awful.  
It’s not like you killed someone and buried the body under the landlady’s tomato garden, awful.  
No, it’s just a little bit less bad than that.  
Lusting after your roommate is not awful.  
_YOU_ ARE AWFUL.  
I’m you, remember?  
Then _I’m_ awful.  
And you’re ok with that?  
You know what? Stop. Just stop. There’s _no way_ this could ever end well.  
What, like Spark railing you on the coffee table?  
…  
Or maybe the kitchen counter. Oh yeah, that’s nice. Or better; on the hood of someone’s car.  
You’ve given this serious consideration.  
Just savour those images for a while. Really wallow in ‘em.  
…I’m going to hell. There’s no hope for me.  
That’s the spirit!

You get home and put your shopping away and place the succulent in the shade on the windowsill. You didn’t bother making any plans for the weekend, hoping your Friday night date would be a weekend marathon (or you had, until he abruptly cancelled on you), and with having to work, your whole day felt fragmented and partly destroyed. Without much else to do, you walk around the apartment picking up and dusting, and throw a small load in the washer. You vacuum the floors, barring Spark’s closed bedroom because god knows what happened in there. You pick out an outfit to wear to Rose’s. By quarter to three, you’re out of distractions.

You fish out your holocaster to recharge and unlock the screen. Spark’s video replays itself, and partway through, you remember the volume and turn it up.

_“Say hello to the newest members of our family. You can see the first hatchling here, he’s so curious.”_

He strokes the bird’s beak and joins the shot. You can hear the little newborn pidgey cheeping in the background.

_“I said I wasn’t gonna cry, but I’m owning it. Please congratulate Dusty on becoming a first time mom. She’s absolutely the best. Two eggs to go!”_

You watch it again and scroll through the comments under it, and realize you’ve been smiling the whole time. You type up your own congratulations and hit SEND. The washer chimes and you get up to tend to it. When you return, a reply is waiting for you.

_How’s work? Feeling better today?_  
I am, thanks. We finished around noon.  
Congrats on Dusty’s family. You look so happy, it’s adorable.  
_Thanks! You can come by if you’re free. I’m not taking battles, but the gym’s open._  
Oh no, I don’t want to be in your way.  
_You won’t be._  
Are you sure it’s ok? Dusty won’t be angry?  
_I don’t think so. But if you ever wanted to see newborn pidgey, now’s your best chance. They’re so cute & fluffy!_  
Aww!  
Ok, I can come by for about an hour.  
_You will? Awesome!_  
Did you want me to bring anything from home?  
_No, just yourself is enough._

Tell me again you don’t wanna?  
He’s just… sleep deprived, I bet.  
Girl, he was talking about your boobs last night.  
He’s a guy. It’s a fixation.  
Didn’t exactly read like a fixation.

You get your purse and dress to go outside again. Finding your way to the gym isn’t hard; it’s the tallest building in the neighbourhood and vividly white. You clear the sliding glass doors and approach the receptionist.

“Hi, I’m here to see Spark?”  
“I’m sorry, gym leader Spark isn’t taking battles this weekend. You’re welcome to spar with his students.”  
“No, I know. But he asked me to come by and see Dusty’s babies.”

At this she narrows her eyes and gives you a harder look. You see her reaching for the phone.

“May I see some ID please?"

You pull your driver’s license and regional registration out and she examines both, repeatedly glancing up at you. She hands them back and hits a key on the phone pad. The wait is a bit uncomfortable and you try to look as non-suspicious as possible. Maybe Spark had declared that he didn’t want to be bothered under any circumstances?

“You have a visitor?”  
“Oh, I see. Perfect, I’ll show her up.”

Her suspicion fades and she gestures for you to come around and follow her through a door behind the desk. It leads into a hallway with a few other doors, one of which she opens to a stairwell. You follow her up to the next landing and she directs you to the open door down the hall. Both ends of the hallway are floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the town below. You approach the open door and hear faint cheeping.

“Spark?”

Boomer runs out to quietly greet you and you follow him in. The room is very warm, and the opposing wall is almost all windows. You’re just above the roofs of the neighbouring buildings, so it feels like you’re floating, looking out across the city. The ceiling stretches up and up, and the glass curves over in a gradual doming shape, giving you a look up at the late-afternoon sky. You can see why Spark wanted to keep his bird up here. It’s the closest thing to being out in the open air. The floor’s a mess of scattered twigs and feathers, and in the corner is a cot with a blanket and some of Spark’s clothes carelessly left about. Dash is sprawled on the bedding, snoring.

“Here.”

Spark’s voice is quiet and you turn to find him near the giant nest his pidgeot is roosting in. You’d never seen a pidgeot up close before, and you’re taken aback by how large she really is. She’s nearly as tall as you and almost twice as wide, and her beak looks like she could tear your arm off with hardly any effort. Her crest is majestically long and you can make out each individual feather. Her eyes open and she tilts her head to look at you. They’re a dark espresso-brown and, far from the vacant beadiness of other birds, these eyes _see_ you and are considering you.

Spark gets up on the edge of the nest and reaches to scratch under her crest. He’s talking to her gently, nothing you can make out, and then he smiles at you and makes his way down. He looks rumpled and tired. Little bits of down dot his clothes. His voice is quiet, so you follow his example and keep yours down. Maybe the birds prefer quiet?

“I’m really glad you came.”  
“Did you sleep at all? You look wasted.”  
“Had a nap at some point. Come.”  
“Wha-? Wait!”

He takes your hand and leads you forward and before you can pull away, he’s got you toes up against the nest and reaching your hand up to stroke Dusty’s feathers. Your frightened protests stall in your chest. The feathers are so incredibly soft and you can feel the patter-patter of Dusty’s heartbeat, and oh my god, you’re petting a bird the size of a small car, _wow_. Dusty’s beak comes terrifyingly close and, as if he can sense your tension about to happen, Spark tightens his grip on your hand. Part of you is screaming to get away before she nips your fingers off, but the rest of you is marvelling that this giant bird is so patient and calm.

“Dusty, give us a kiss.”

She lays her beak against your hands, then tilts her head sideways and gives a murmuring sort of scratching sound that you guess must be her approximation of how a kiss sounds. Spark chuckles and lets go of your hand to stroke her beak. You smile hugely and stroke her feathers again.

“She’s beautiful.”  
“She is. She was my first pokemon.”  
“She won’t hurt me, will she?”  
“No way. When she comes down from her nest, you should see what a suck she can be for scratches. She’s my spoiled princess.”  
“Dusty, you’re such a pretty girl.”  
“Sorry if my receptionist was a bit rude. I didn’t have a chance to tell her to expect you. We don’t advertise when someone’s pokemon has babies because some sickos will do anything to take them.”  
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I figured you didn’t want to be bothered and I was just someone off the street as far as she knew. Do people really steal baby pokemon?”  
“Unfortunately. Even common ones like pidgey. A good lineage means a lot to those who want to pay for it.”  
“That’s disgusting.”  
“Yeah, but it’s alright, she’s safe up here. Between the gym security and the alarms on the floor, nobody’s touching her family.”  
“And you here.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, and me.”

Dusty shifts and you withdraw, bracing yourself against the side of the nest. She’s nuzzling at something under her. Suddenly, a little gray-brown fluff of a pidgey pops up and cheeps at you from under her breast. You giggle with delight.

“Is that the curious one? Oh my gosh, he’s so cute!”  
“That’s him. I think it’s a him. We’ll know in a few more weeks.”  
“I always thought baby birds were ugly things, but baby pidgey are just the cutest little cotton puffs.”  
“Want to hold him?”  
“What? Are you sure?”

Spark’s already reaching into the nest and cradling the cheeping thing in his hands.

“Cup your hands near your chest –yeah, exactly.”  
“Oh my god…”

And then the little bird is in your grasp and it feels so fragile and light. Spark guides your hands around it safely. It’s trembling a little, wings flapping as if it couldn’t wait to summon a gale. Even the tiny talons are mild pricks on your skin, barely sharp at all.

“He’s so tiny, it’s like he weighs nothing.”  
“Hard to imagine he might grow up to be as big as his mom, huh?”  
“Yeah, it’s incredible. I bet he’ll be the first to fly. He likes flapping already.”

Spark and you share a laugh at that. You look down and gingerly stroke the downy fluff. You coo at it and smile as it settles down, looking like it’s ready to nap.

“How many did Dusty lay?”  
“Five. Three have hatched already.”  
“They don’t hatch at the same time?”  
“Nope. But the first one started around one AM, and they’ve been coming along every four to six hours, so we might have all five by this time tomorrow. I hope.”  
“I think he’s asleep. Take him back?”

He retrieves the sleeping hatchling and returns it to Dusty, who shifts and tucks him under her breast to keep warm. A great wing stretches out, folds again, and then the other and she settles down with a yawn.

“Aww, tired momma. Job well done, Dusty.”

Spark helps you sidestep the branches and larger twigs to back away from the nest. Boomer’s joined Dash on the bed and they’re cuddled up together, snoozing.

“Even they didn’t get much sleep. Poor guys.”  
“Yeah, they were my sentinels when I dozed off.”  
“I’m proud of you. You have great pokemon, and they love you as much as you love them. That’s amazing.”

Spark hugs you and kisses the side of your neck.

“Thank you.”

You remain like that for a few moments more, and despite the heat of the room, being in his arms feels really nice. It’s even nicer when he draws back a little and kisses you on the mouth. It’s hesitant and sweet at first, the kind of kiss you’d want to spend hours enjoying on a sunny morning lounging in bed. You reach up to touch his face and he holds you tighter against him.

Maybe more like a lazy morning fuck, if the way he’s carrying on is any indication of his thoughts.

The kiss is becoming progressively less PG the longer it goes on, not that you’re complaining. Something gets your nose tickling and you mentally curse and pray it stops. You’re starting to become breathless and Spark’s got his tongue doing that thing you find you really like and oh, hell-

You tear yourself away from Spark just in time to sneeze, and then sneeze again for good measure, stumbling from the force of it. Spark catches you and while you’re mentally kicking yourself, he’s just laughing.

“Must be the feathers.”

Yeah, must be, you think. Dammit.

By the time you compose yourself, you check the time on your holocaster and realize you’ve been here nearly two hours and you still have to get ready and head downtown to Rose’s.

Dinner or kissing?

“Sorry, um, I better go. Thanks so much for letting me visit.”  
“No worries. Come back any time.”  
“Thanks. Try and get some sleep, ok?”  
“Yes, ma’am.”

 

While at Rose’s, your holocaster rings and you take it into your friend’s bedroom to answer it. It’s the guy from Friday. You’re unimpressed with his plea for forgiveness.

“Look, don’t worry about it. I gotta go. I’m in the middle of something.”  
_“Do you want to do lunch tomorrow?”_  
“Sorry, I have plans.”  
_“Are you just saying that to blow me off?”_  
“I…”  
_“Come on, we had fun the last time.”_  
“I’m not interested, ok? I’m seeing someone else.”  
_“Is he what you’re in the middle of?”_  
“I’m hanging up.”  
_“I’m kidding! Don’t hang up. C’mon. What are you doing later?”_  
“Seriously, you ditch me with the shittiest excuse and now you want a booty run?”  
_“I didn’t say that.”_  
“You didn’t have to. You know what? Just lose my number.”

You hang up and draw up his contact to block his number. Rose knocks on the doorframe, startling you a bit.

“Hey, you want coffee with dessert?”  
“What? Oh, yes, please. Sorry, did you hear all that?”  
“It’s cool, Bliz stepped out for a smoke. Everything ok?”

You sigh and lock your holocaster.

“Rose, I think I’m in big trouble.”

Her pale green eyes widen and she comes closer to put a hand on your shoulder. Her frosty-pink hair looks really good in a fishtail braid. Have to get her to teach you how to do one of those.

“What’s wrong? Is that guy harassing you?”  
“No, not him. Nobody’s harassing me.”  
“Pregnant?”  
“Pft, thankfully not.”  
“Then what’s up?”  
“Just that… Nobody’s harassing me. But I wish a guy would.”  
“A guy as in any guy, or…? Oh. Oh, I see.”  
“I can’t say anything.”  
“But why not? He’s not married is he?”

You groan and shake your head.

“Is he bad news?”  
“No, he’s perfect.”  
“Are you afraid he’ll reject you?”  
“I’m afraid that he won’t.”  
“I… I don’t follow. You don’t want him to want you? Do you think he wants you, too?”  
“I think he does? But he’s not making a move, and I’m too scared. Our circumstances are weird.”  
“Would you want me to go fishing for you?”  
“No, it would be too obvious. God, I hate this.”

Rose wraps her arms around you and you hug her back.

“I don’t know how to help, but I’m sorry you’re in trouble. That sort of trouble really sucks.”  
“Tell me about it.”  
“If he’s as good as you say, then I’m behind whatever crackpot decision you make. You could use a good guy for a change.”  
“Thanks, Rose.”  
“And let’s not mention any of this to Ro? Otherwise it’ll be front-page news.”

You snicker at that and she joins you laughing.

 

“Trick or Treat!!”

You smirk as Spark joins in the cry and gathers the children forward to offer their baskets. Trick-or-treating was a parade around the block within the zone the city had blocked off for pedestrian traffic. It was a nice way of giving the kids a sense of independence and the parents a break. Apparently it was a thing all the gyms did, at least in this city. It was your first Halloween here, so it seemed foreign but not altogether un-fun. Spark had wheedled you into going with him and about thirteen other kids between four and twelve. Spark was the biggest kid in the group, by far, but the parents seemed to trust him.

“Everybody got their candy? Ok, forward, march! Next house! No running, I said march like a little soldier.”

You draw up to him, holding the dead weight of a sleeping toddler up far too long past her bed time. She’d had her fill of bothering strangers early on.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this.”  
“Aww, c’mon. It’s fun, isn’t it? Want me to hold her?”  
“Please? My arms are going numb. I’ll hold your bag.”

You both pause walking at the foot of the next house’s footpath. Spark picks her up in one arm and carefully rests her head on his shoulder. You reach up to tug her tutu and wing-decked jacket back into place to keep her back covered. He hands you his candy bag and leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Thanks, Alice.”  
“Thank you, Chess. Cute whiskers.”  
“Cute dress. You’re not cold?”  
“I have a couple of shirts under. I’ll be ok.”  
“Thanks for coming out. I would have had to go alone with all these little monsters.”  
“Oh, the horror!”

You both laugh as the kids come stampeding back, shouting about what they got. Spark rounds them up and instructs them to hold hands and make a chain so they can all cross the street. You fall to the rear to keep an eye on them and take the ten year old My Little Ponyta’s hand.

“We’re all good!”  
“Ok, follow the gym leader!”

As you step back onto the curb and disperse, the girl holding your hand turns and curls her finger at you to come closer. You crouch down.

“What’s up, honey?”

She puts her hand against the side of her mouth and leans in to your ear, partly covered by your blonde wig.

“I think Spark is really handsome,” she stage-whispers.

You look at her, feigning shock, and then look around. You don a conspiratorial expression and motion her forward, putting your lips to her ear in turn.

“Me too.”

She pulls back with a scandalized gasp and a grin. You can practically see the fairy-tale romance playing out above her head.

“I won’t say if you don’t say.”  
“Ok, you got a deal.”  
“Shake on it?”  
“I’ll shake on it!”

You shake her hand and stand again to usher her towards the group already bombarding the next house. You join in the battle cry and offer Spark’s bag to collect your prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	3. We can’t keep doing this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween's over; time to get out your snowsuit and stockpile non-perishables, because winter's coming early this year. 
> 
> Amazing the things that can happen when you spend time with a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

Twinkle-lights are going up all over town, replacing the Halloween decorations of last week and the temperature quickly plummets as a cold snap takes over. A blizzard hits one afternoon, and walking home takes twice as long, and is exponentially more miserable. As Spark stumbles in wiping ice off his face, your holocaster radio announces yet again for people to get off the roads and stay indoors.

“No problem here,” Spark sniffles. “You couldn’t pay me to go back out in that.”  
“They’re saying power lines are going down. Better get your shower now in case the lights cut.”  
“No worries, Boomer knows flash. C’mon buddy, it’s hot shower time!”  
“Pi!”

Spark pauses as he walks by and gives you a look over. You’re still in your work clothes with your hair pulled back in a tail.

“Uh, wait, hold up. Have you gone?”  
“It’s ok, I’d rather finish dinner.”  
“What’s there left to do?”  
“Just stir it until it’s cooked. Maybe ten minutes or so?”  
“Ok, I’ll stir, you take the shower first.”  
“But you shower faster.”  
“And I still have to get this coat and stuff off and leave it to dry. Just go.”  
“Ok… Ten minutes, then cut the heat and take it off the burner.”  
“Sure thing.”

You select sweatpants, a hoodie and tank to go with your clean panties and thick socks, and shut the bathroom door. You’d weathered outages in the apartment before, and you knew the hot water would last for a time, so that was one blessing. You clip your hair up and start the water. The rattle and gurgle of the radiator makes you feel sorry for how hard it has to work to keep the place temperate. Stepping under the hot water feels so good after being clammy and chilled. The lights give a warning flicker and you frown and hurry up washing.

Clean and warm, you return to the kitchen to find candles in assorted candleholders from around the apartment at the table and Spark with no pants on arranging them. You take a moment to appreciate the view before speaking up.

“Uh… What’s with the romantic pantsless soiree?”

He laughs, apparently not ashamed to show off his staryu-dotted shorts. Interesting.

“My socks and pants were totally soaked. Why, not a fan of good ol’ staryu?  
“I actually have no opinion on that. Staryu’s a fish, right?”  
“Starfish, to be exact.”  
“Right…”

It would be so easy to make another kind of exploitative fish joke, you think, and turn away to get drinks ready, and open a can of food to warm up for Bojangles. Something about a gyarados. Yeah, that sounded sufficiently filthy. Spark ducks into the bathroom while you ponder that one-liner you’ll never say. You check on the food and give it another stir before plating it with rice noodles, and set a pot lid on the rest to keep warm.

“Bojangles, dinner!” You make a kissing noise and call again. He still hasn’t gotten used to his new name, but it sure beats the shelter’s “Earl Fluffins” any day.

The power cuts and you freeze in place, blinded by the sudden darkness. You hear the water running in the bathroom, and scampering paws.

“Pikaa!”

You look down and find Boomer next to you, cheeks aglow and casting a warm light around.

“Thanks, Boomer. Can you help me find a lighter?”  
“Chu!”

You startle when he emits sparks, but he points to the candles and does it again.

“Oh! You can light them?”  
“Pi!”

You both head to the table and you offer him one of the candles, watching in fascination as he wriggles his nose, puffs his cheeks and very carefully aims a single spark at the wick. It makes a pop, not unlike something popping in a microwave, but sure enough a tiny flame takes hold. Boomer hands it back looking pleased. You scratch his head and smile at him.

“Wow, that’s amazing! You’re so talented, Boomer!”  
“Cha~a.”  
“Now that I’ve got one going, I can light the rest. Thanks, buddy. You should go help your daddy now.”

You pass your flame to the next candle and the next, choosing not to act on the urge to help Boomer open the door (and maybe steal a peek). Despite your own interests, you’re pretty certain Spark would never do it to you if only out of sheer respect. The bathroom door opens and the sound of falling water is louder. You hear Spark praise his pokemon and smirk, a bit jealous of the little rodent. Bojangles mews and approaches the kitchen table to rub against your legs.

Spark joins you for dinner a few minutes later and you explain what Boomer did to get the candles going. He high-fives the little paw.

“Great job, buddy! That’s using your noodle!”  
“Pii~”

You both laugh at that and you know Boomer is the spoiled one of Sparks two fur-babies. Just look at him relishing in the praise, what a suck.

“Why did you name him Boomer?”  
“His thunder attacks even as a little bitty zappy-chu were insanely loud. My assistants came running, thought someone had set off a bomb and the gym was going to collapse.”  
“Oh, wow. Is that normal?”  
“Most thunder attacks are loud, hence the name. Boomer just… booms.”  
“Pika!”  
“You love that we’re talking about you, dontcha?”  
“Dash is so calm and quiet by comparison.”  
“Yeah, he’s always been pretty mellow. Would have made a good vaporeon, too, I think.”  
“I wonder if Bo would want to evolve.”  
“I’ve heard there are way more eevee out there, more than just vaporeon, jolteon, and flareon.”  
“No way?”  
“Yeah, an ice type and a grass one. Pink and purple and black. Really amazing.”  
“Where are all those eevee?”  
“Apparently everywhere but here.”

He thanks you for dinner and asks about work, asks if you get time off for the holidays and if you’re going anywhere. Your savings aren’t enough, and you’ve got no plans, plus you wouldn’t know where to go anyway.

“Oh, good news. My ID arrived. Glad I was able to take a new picture. The old one was bad.”  
“Great! So you can clear up your bank and stuff now, right? Just in time for the holidays!”  
“Yeah, I can pay you back, too.”

You blush and flounder for words, wondering if you could somehow pluck your previous ones out of the atmosphere.

“Well… yeah, that, but I meant like, you can finally do what you want to do. I wasn’t trying to say-”  
“It’s cool, I know what you meant.”  
“Oh.”

You eat in awkward silence for a moment. Boomer leaves, his cheeks glowing as he wanders off into the dark of the apartment.

“Hey?”  
“Hm?”  
“If you’re not, like, doing anything… The gym throws a party every year. Friends and family. We’re friends, right?”  
“Oh, yeah… I can probably make it. Actually, I just found out we’re doing one at work, too. Nothing at all fancy, just the team at a pub with their husbands and wives and all that.”  
“Are you asking me to be your wife for the night?”

You’ve never been so grateful for broken ice, and you end up laughing harder than the wisecrack probably warranted. Spark chuckles at the joke, too.

“Alright, sounds like a plan.”  
“Is yours fancy?”  
“Eh, you’ll need a nice dress? It’s not black tie, but everyone puts in some effort since we’re in gym rags and sweats every day.”  
“Does that mean I get to see you in a suit?”  
“We’ll see.”  
“It’s baby blue, isn’t it? And made of satin.”  
“Don’t go looking in my closet! Rude!”  
“You’d rock it. Hot people can wear anything.”  
“So, I’ll see you in some slinky Jessica Raichu number, then?”

That makes you spit your soda, and you’re both laughing at the absurdity of it all. You dab your eyes with your napkin and gasp for air.

“Aw, man… We should really class up the place and just go as Team Rocket.”  
“To my thing or yours?”  
“Why not both?”

He bursts out laughing again and you’re too breathless to muster anything more than a giggle.

“Oho, shit~” He’s practically crying. “There’s something dark in you. Going to a gym party as Team Rocket. We should save that for next Halloween, though. Would really scare the higher ups!”  
“Really? Brilliant!”

Spark holds out his glass of water. You match it with your iced tea.

“The weather is crap, but my amazing roommate cooked a great meal, and here we are laughing our asses off in the dark about parties. Best dinner ever.”  
“Oh go on, flattery will get you everywhere.”

No, it really will, you think smugly as he offers to collect the plates. Still, that was definitely a date invitation. A Date date. A double date, even.

“What now? There’s not much to do.”  
“Got any good books?”  
“Read them all at least twice.”  
“Could watch a movie online.”  
“Could. Oh, how about The Avengers?”  
“I like that one. Let’s go watch it, I’ll do the dishes in the daylight.”  
“Go?”  
“Well there’s no power, so no heat. The apartment’s going to cool down pretty soon. Let’s pick a bed and stay there.”

You almost drop your glass at his words. Is he doing this on purpose?

“I mean to cuddle, not like. Other stuff.”

Oh, no, please, by all means, let there be other stuff.

“I’m fine with whatever.”

You really, really are. And you hope your vagueness gets misinterpreted. You start to wonder if Spark is possibly naïve or simple. You also wonder how long your self-control will last.

You each take a candle and retreat to his room, because his bed’s a king size, and between two humans and three pokemon, you’re going to need the room. Well, they will; you have every intention of staying close to the other human in bed. The candles are set on the nightstand on your side of the bed and Spark tosses his hoodie on the floor. The bedding feels like a duvet, and you shimmy in beside Spark and make yourself comfortable in the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder.

Mm, he smells good~

Spark looks up the movie online and hits play, then sets his holocaster to project on the wall. You wait for him to settle down and feel a hand reach up to stroke your hair. It’s nice. Lying there in the dark, it’s easy to forget where you are, who you both are. Forget about jobs and money and rent and snow and just enjoy being warm in his arms, in his bed.

He could be your boyfriend, your inner monologue starts up. You could just stop dating those lame ducks and lay the cards on the table. You’ve never heard him talk about dating or dress up to go anywhere. He’s clearly single.

Shut up, don’t go there.  
Why not? He’s really nice, responsible, has a good career. He also seems to like you.  
Stop.  
Guys don’t cuddle with just anyone.  
…  
He’s really hot.  
Ok yeah, he’s hot.  
So, what’s the problem?  
He’s my roommate. Don’t make it weird.  
Babe, it’s already weird enough.  
It’s not _that_ weird.  
You regularly kiss your roommate who you don’t want for a boyfriend even though he’s great and likes you.  
Please stop.  
You should tell him.  
_No!_  
Tell him you want to be a thing.  
I… No! No.  
Just-  
No.

The air in the room is beginning to feel cooler and you pull the blanket a tad higher up your shoulder. You shift your hips and drape a leg over his, glancing up at his face to see if he reacts. His hand on your head strokes your hair one last time and settles at the crook of your neck. Just when you think you’ve both settled down, he’s petting you again, one finger lightly stroking behind your ear. It sends shivers down your spine.

Girl, you are so fucked, and not in a good way.  
Shut up, you’re not helping!

Glancing away from the movie, you try to make out his face in the dark, but he’s turned away, watching the movie. You lift your head and stealthily tug his t-shirt collar down. His skin tastes clean under your lips, and the fingers on the back of your neck tighten a little, pulling you closer. You accept the invitation and move up, pretty much laying your body on top of his. Finally, he turns away from the movie and finds your lips not far from his. You shift a little, trying to rebalance yourself and feel something hard on your belly.

You both freeze and in the near-dark, it’s hard to tell if he’s nervous or excited. You move slightly, just enough to replicate the motion and sure enough, you know what that is. You kiss him again, letting your hips drop and grind. He groans and now both his hands are in your hair and pulling you back.

“You can touch me, too,” you whisper. You hope he will. His breathing is staccato against your face.

You duck out of his hands and kiss his jaw down to his throat, feeling his arms move under the covers and wrap around you. One hand finds the back of your thigh and pulls your leg up along his hip, and you wonder how inconvenient it might be to try and undress all these heavy clothes without getting out of bed. His hand moves back up your thigh to your hip and gropes your ass, pulling your hips down harder. You moan against his neck, and he echoes the sentiment. You’re not worried about keeping warm anymore.

“Stop,” he breathes against your ear, and holy shit his voice is so husky and breathy, you could come just listening to it a few more times.  
“What’s wrong?”

He swallows, catching his breath or maybe trying to find his words. You kiss his cheek and one hand lets go of you to emerge from under the blanket. The holocaster is reached for and shut off. The room is flickeringly golden and quiet, and all you know is that you’re lying on him with his arm around you, and he’s still hard. What happened?

“What are we doing?”  
“You know damn well what we’re doing.”  
“No, I know but…”  
“You’re single, right?”  
“So?”  
“What if… Maybe I stopped looking for other guys?”

Oh my god, why, _why_ did I just say that?!  
Do you think he’s a virgin?  
Who cares.  
Oh no, what if he’s actually gay?  
Awkward. Also, what a rude tease.  
Right?

“You’re not gonna tell me you’re gay, are you?”  
“What? No. I just…”  
“Virgin?”  
“No.”  
“So?”  
“Is this like, a matter of convenience, or…?”  
“Is it so weird that I like you? That I’m attracted to you?”  
“Oh.”

Oh?

You hold out your heart and all he says is _oh_?

Anger bubbles in your chest and you feel your face get hot. You roll off him, venom on the tip of your tongue when you make out his expression in the weak light and realize he’s shocked and embarrassed and just as uncertain. You swallow the venom but can’t swallow your frustration, not completely.

“Spark, what the fuck, man? I’ve been throwing myself at you forever and _just now_ it hits you?”  
“Since when?”  
“Almost since we met?”  
“I’m… Damn, I’m oblivious.”  
“Yeah, _duh_. You’re not committed to anybody, are you?”  
“No. Life got in the way.”

You take a breath to speak, hesitate, and shut your mouth. Maybe being angry at him in his own bed when the power’s out and the apartment is cooling down isn’t the smartest idea. And maybe…

“Do you think –Am I a convenience?”  
“No, not at all. I mean, it is convenient circumstances, but… I like you as a person. And, um, physically.”  
“So, you’re ok with everything?”  
“Yeah. I mean, wow. We should have had this discussion sooner.”  
“Probably.”

The bedding rustles as he moves and you feel him gingerly lean over you, not quite sure where all your limbs are in the single candle’s light, possibly not sure if you want him this close after everything.

“You are way more patient than me.”  
“Am I?”  
“How long have we been living together?”  
“Going on four months?”

You snicker. He laughs bashfully.

“You dumb blonde.”  
“Guilty as charged.”  
“I guess we’re over that movie. What now?”  
“Could I just hold you?”

It’s the most vulnerable thing you’ve ever heard anyone say, and your libido screeches to a gut-wrenching halt. You utter something agreeable and lean over to blow out the candle. You’re glad it’s dark because you’re afraid whatever was tentatively happening now would be destroyed by your expression. You don’t know what it looks like, but if it’s anything like how you’re feeling, it can’t be encouraging. You turn over and let him be the big spoon, all the while wondering what the hell is up with his sex drive.

You probably laughed him flat.  
He was laughing, too.  
And embarrassed that he didn’t catch on.  
Which is honestly pretty stupid.  
Agreed, but.  
But he revs up and then stalls, what the fuck?  
Maybe he needs time. He did just realize you guys like each other.  
Physically, heh.  
He went there.  
It was cute.  
Just give him some time to work it out in his head or whatever. It’s old news to you.  
Yeah… what’s another few weeks? Ugh!  
Nothing says you can’t ask.  
What, for sex?  
For a little relief? What if you’re coming on too strong and he’s afraid to make a move? He doesn’t know you that way.  
So… what? Show him how it’s done?  
…Yeah, you could.  
Or what?  
I dunno.  
Useless.

Spark’s breathing against the back of your neck feels subdued and you wonder if he’s asleep already. Your mind and body feel restless and it feels like hours go by as you wait for sleep.

 

“You were right about these breakfast sandwiches.”

That morning, you’d gotten a call that your office had been flooded, so everyone was issued the day off. The power had yet to return, which meant by now the apartment was chilly and the water in the heating tank had gone cold. Washing up with icy water hadn’t been pleasant, but Spark offered you use of the shower at the gym, which apparently had its own emergency power.

“Told you they were good. You gonna eat that?”  
“I save my bacon for last.”  
“See, you are patient.”

The comment is meant to be playful, but it pisses you off a little to know he’s dragging this out. You still aren’t sure how to confront him about that. You chew a little harder and try to think of anything else.

You look around the café, and then out the foggy windows into the still-snowing wasteland outside. The Prancing Vulpix has generators running out back and glows like a warm, coffee-scented beacon. Despite the hour, many of the tables are full and the lineup hasn’t waned since you both arrived. Apparently a lot people in the neighborhood just couldn’t start their day without a cup of bean.

That they’re letting people charge their laptops and holocasters with any purchase over $10 means running those generators out back won’t dent their profits. Your own holocasters were charging behind the counter in their own labeled bins.

“Something on your mind?”  
“Hm?”  
“You’ve been snarky and distracted all morning.”  
“Oh, that you notice?”  
“Are you mad about last night?”  
“I’m not mad.”  
“What are you, then?”  
“I’m frustrated.”

You give him a pointed look. To your utter and complete bafflement, he smiles and starts blushing.

“I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure you want to hit me from the look on your face, but I can’t help it. I’m flattered.”  
“Are you really that un-self-aware?”  
“I dunno, I’m just a person. If I told you how beautiful I think you are, you’d say I’m full of shit.”

Is this what whiplash feels like? You’re seriously questioning Spark’s innocent façade; he’s starting to feel manipulative.

“You are so full of shit. You’re fucking with my head. There’s no way a guy like you is completely blind, deaf, and dumb to a woman throwing herself at him.”  
“Shh, the whole café doesn’t need to know what we’re talking about.”

Flushed and beginning to get angry, you start in on your bacon early. Oh, salty, fried meat. Spark allows you a moment to decompress with your food before continuing.

“Ok, you want a full show of hand? I want what you want, and I guess I’ve wanted it for a while. I just didn’t want to rush anything. I was also worried because of our situation. It’s kind of the opposite of how relationships start. Does that make sense to you?”  
“Yeah, it does. What I can’t grasp is why the past two months are a fucking revelation to you.”

Wow, that came out really hostile.  
Easy there, blue ovaries. You made it this far, don’t screw it up now because you’re mad he turned you away.  
I’m not mad he turned me away, I’m wondering what the fuck is between his ears!  
Ok, you need to breathe. Let’s count. One… two… three… four…

“I mean, it’s really unfair when you start something and then slam on the brakes. Is there a legitimate problem besides you getting your head in the game?”  
“No. But I don’t consider this a game.”  
“Figure of speech.”  
“I forgot, ok? Got caught up in the moment and only realized ‘oh shit, what are we doing, this is not ok’ part way through.”  
“No, there’s no part of this that’s not ok. We’re both adults. _We_ say what’s ok. You don’t make choices for me. You’re not a mind reader. You do what you want to do, and if I want you to stop, I’ll say so.”

You have to stop and reassess things before you act on the urge to say or do something regrettable. Last night had been a rollercoaster, and this morning still had you lurching. You can’t decide if you want to kiss him or wring his neck. Just a little bit.

You take a breath and let it out slowly.

“Ok, let’s try this again.”  
“Please, before you flip the table.”  
“Spark. What happened last night?”  
“I’d call it making out. You?”  
“Yeah, sure. Besides that.”  
“You admitted you liked me.”  
“And you reacted like it was breaking news. What the hell?”

He’s starting to look rather cheesed, but damn if the way he does that thing with his jaw isn’t sexy. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed and glares out the windows.

“What, are you nitpicking my reaction? You want a do-over? Pass me my lines, then.”  
“No, I just really want to understand what is going on in your head. Can you maybe think about this from my point of view?”  
“That’s easy: you want sex and can’t settle on a guy.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest and you feel your teeth clack a moment later as you remember to shut your mouth. Was that what he really thought of you? His cold gaze slides over to you and you can’t meet it. _He did not just call me what I think he did._ You’re trying too hard to remember how to breathe. You’re trying to remember why you like him.

“Wait, I’m sorry, that came out wrong-”  
“No, you’re not wrong.”  
“I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

You remove yourself from the moment by grabbing your empty mug and heading to the lineup for seconds. Your stomach’s in knots and you’re not sure if you want to scream, or break down and cry. You swallow what feels like tears and tell yourself it’s not, that you’re not going to cry, that Spark didn’t just knock the wind out of you with a handful of careless words. Just need to get some coffee.

Returning to your table, you chew on a stir stick, not sure what your face is showing and hoping it’ll serve as a distraction. Spark’s got his elbows on the table, interlocked fingers obscuring his face. He looks at you as you take your seat, and it reminds you of a growlithe that’s sorry it ate your favourite shoes.

“I’m sorry. I take it back.”  
“Fine.”  
“And maybe I kind of do understand where you’re coming from.”  
“Wonderful.”  
“Do you still want to talk, or am I just digging myself deeper?”

You sigh and your shoulders drop. You wish things were easy like in the movies. Boy, did they have it all wrong.

“No, I’d love to know what you’re thinking for a change. Enlighten me.”  
“Ok, well… Last night caught me off my guard.”  
“Where did you think all those kisses before were heading? Like, what the crap, is this some kind of normal for you? Do you just casually make out with whoever you’re rooming with?”  
“No! No, it just… It started out as an accident.”  
“Tomaytoe, tomahtoe.”  
“After that first time, I couldn’t call it an accident anymore. I don’t know what I was doing, but it felt right.”  
“Yeah, I remember. You said it had been a while. Like how much of a while?”  
“I just got out of a three-year in the spring. And before you say it, no, you’re not my rebound. It wasn’t that kind of breakup.”  
“And then life got in the way.”  
“And then life got in the way. Yeah.”

You gnaw on a piece of bacon, chewing on your thoughts. Here he is, putting a knife in your hand and throwing his defences at your feet. You’re still not over his comment earlier, but you’re not vicious enough to sabotage what you’ve been working towards all this time just because you want to hurt him back. Finally, you find words that seem right.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

The look in his eyes is like you’ve drawn blood, and you hesitate, trying to put your next phrase together in a less fatal way.

“I need to know what you want from me.”  
“I don’t want-”  
“You want something, Spark. You didn’t invite me into your bed for nothing. I don’t buy it when you say it slipped your mind and like, oops, we just kissed often, no big deal.”

It’s his turn to sigh and rub his forehead on his knuckles.

Wow, I could make being blunt an Olympic career.  
You’re going to run out of men at this rate.  
I did not see things going this way.  
A three-year relationship? Damn. What happened there? That’s not a casual screw-up.  
I hope he says we can try being a thing. I so want to be his thing.  
What if he’s the reason the last thing ended, though?

Spark lifts his head and rests his chin on his hands woven together. There’s a queer blend of challenge and vulnerability in his expression. It’s complicated. You understand it implicitly.

“Were you serious when you said you would stop dating other guys?”

Oh my god, is this happening?

“It was a serious offer, yes. Pending your particulars.”  
“Then… yes.”  
“Yes?”  
“Yes. I want a relationship. I want us to be together. I want to stop wondering and kissing you, hoping you don’t ask questions.”  
“Can I ask, though… Why did you stop being in that relationship?”

He goes quiet and it feels like forever before he speaks again. You almost cut him off to ask if he even wants to answer when he does, and his words are carefully spoken.

“She was in love with someone else. When she finally fessed up, I told her it wasn’t fair to either of us to stay together.”  
“Oh… Ow. That’s really big of you, Spark. I’m sorry it ended like that.”  
“Yeah, I was, too, for a while.”  
“So, I guess you’re not big on dating.”  
“Don’t really have the time.”  
“You don’t miss the connection?”  
“Do you? How long do you have to keep seeing someone before you realize you’re really into them, or they’re not into you?”

He has a point. Your fractured image of him being manipulative, oblivious, and so much like all the other failures you’ve dated is starting to smear and become something else. Your fear and defensiveness, your hurt feelings, your frustrations have all condensed –like the moisture on the café windows- and are dripping away, too heavy to hold on to. That knot in your stomach feels lighter, somehow less solid.

“What questions did you hope I wouldn’t ask?”

You’re too excited to restrain your curiosity, and now that you’re both talking without being bitchy and defensive, you want to ask everything.

“Was afraid you might ask why I was kissing you.”  
“Why did you?”

The light in his eyes changes and he hides what looks like the beginnings of a smile behind his hands. You bite your lip and look away.

“Oh.”

It breaks whatever remaining tension is between you and you both share a giggle, and that feeling in your stomach is absolutely butterflies, and you’re pretty sure you’re blushing, but so is he.

“Alright. Yes.”  
“Yes?”  
“I’m off the market. I’m down for this.”  
“Really?”  
“Really.”  
“Lean forward.”  
“Eh?”

You move your coffee aside and lean your crossed forearms on the table. He reaches forward and hooks a finger under your chin, leans across the table and his lips are gentle on yours. It’s like an unspoken promise, and it gets your heart racing faster than even the lewdest kiss you’d shared so far.

He draws back just the tiniest bit and when you meet his eyes, he smiles faintly and you mirror it right back. You lean in to return the kiss, and you wonder if he can hear your heart slamming against your chest.

 

You’re off the rest of the week while your office building is getting pumped dry and likely racking up an exorbitant renovations bill. You’d love to be the landlord, or the decorator that’s going to redo the basement and first floor. Spark’s mid-week “weekend” rolls around, and you both realize you’ve nothing to do and nowhere to be. You’ve quickly adapted to your impromptu vacation by cleaning, organizing, and purging.

Spark comes in from a run with his pokemon and calls a greeting as he heads for the shower. When he returns, he finds you bundled in a throw at the coffee table with Game of Thrones on the tv.

“Season one?”  
“Mm-hm.”  
“You working from home today?”  
“Nope, this is a personal project I started before I moved. I found it again when I was reorganizing my closet.”

You grab a cluster of photos and drop them under the table before gesturing to your work.

“I wanted to do a photo album with a bit of a scrapbook-y vibe. But not like those multi-dimensional monstrosities on Pinterest.”  
“Oh, that’s cute. I like that wavy edge, it’s less boring than a straight one.”  
“Right?”  
“So, what do you put in here? Photos?”  
“Yeah, and ticket stubs, postcards, birthday cards, that sort of thing. That way, it’s all in one place, not taking up a lot of room, and I can look at it and think about the person who wrote to me, or was in the photo, or whatever.”  
“That’s a really nice idea. Everything’s digital, so you tend to forget what you have.”  
“Exactly. Had a good run?”  
“Good enough, but it’s getting warm. Slush all over the place.”  
“Wanna veg out with me?”  
“Sure. I have to go feed the boys first –does Bojangles get lunch?”  
“No, I usually feed him breakfast and dinner, and when I leave, I put out some kibble for if he gets hungry during the day.”  
“Ah. Alright, I’ll be back.”

You hear Spark talking to Dash and Boomer in the kitchen as he prepares their lunch. The cluster under the table is sent back into the box they were stored in and you stack the lid on it.

“I got apples, if you want to give some to them,” you call to Spark.  
“Chuu pi pikachu!!”  
“Boomer says you’re his favorite.”

You chuckle, thinking how easy it is to impress children. Easier still when that child was a friendly pikachu that was the apple of your boyfriend’s eye. A yip and a thump from the kitchen startles you.

“What was that?”  
“Dash.”  
“Is he ok?”  
“He’s just jealous I’m not serving him first.”

A bark punctuates that and Bojangles asleep in the sun by the balcony doors startles and looks around, long ears pivoting. A familiar scampering approaches and you look over your shoulder to see Boomer heading for you, half an apple held in his teeth. He gives an inarticulate but happy-sounding squeak and climbs up into your lap.

“Hey there, are you here to share that with me?”

You hear Spark chuckle in the kitchen. In your lap, Boomer holds his treat in forepaws and busily munches at it.

“He knows the apple came from you, so he wants to show you he likes it.”  
“Aww, you’re welcome.”

You scratch an ear and he coos contently. The sound of a larger quadruped approaches and Dash gives a happy whine and rubs against you. His pelt is coarse but soft and well-maintained, and the habitual static jolteon naturally collect feels minimal at the moment, barely giving you goosebumps. You scratch his chin and give his muzzle a kiss.

“Dashie, did you have a good run? You’re not as prickly as usual.”

He licks his chops and tilts his head as if he’s trying to understand you better, then decides it’s not worth the effort and turns to leave. You turn back to your work, rather surprised Dash even came to you for attention. Unlike Boomer, he was lukewarm and independent much of the time.

“I’m making tea. You want?”  
“Sure, whatever you’re having.”

Your holocaster buzzes and you glance over at it, pausing your scissors. You read the alert before the screen dims again, and then it’s buzzing again, another message hot on its heels. You set down your work and pick up your holocaster.

_Hey, it’s been a while. I can’t stop thinking about you_  
_I have tickets to Cirque. I know you love that sort of thing. Say you’ll come?_

It’s Fen, that guy you were starting to get serious about until Spark unintentionally ruined it. You hadn’t heard from him since the night you botched things, and figured you never would again.

Hi, Fen! Haven’t heard from you in a while. Thanks for the offer, that’s very generous.  
_Can we try again? I miss you_  
Sorry, I’m with someone else now. But it’s kind of you to think of me. I hope you’re doing well :)  
_Oh come on, don’t be like that_  
What?  
_Don’t be all snobby like you’re better than me. There’s no way you’re with someone. You’re chronically cheap_  
Omg seriously? I always thought you were really nice. I’m sorry about what happened, but you don’t have to be so rude.  
_Just stating the facts_  
I don’t deserve this attitude from you.

It never fails to amaze you what jerks some guys can be. You suspect he’s going to get even more belligerent and while you’re trying to remember if he knows where you live or work, he’s carrying on like you left him at the alter with the entire wedding bill.

_I unno maybe you’re a freak & like mean guys. Come out tonight, let’s do this._  
_Hey?_  
_Answer me._  
No. I’m not doing anything with you. We’re not together anymore, and I have a boyfriend now. I wish you all the best, Fen  
_bitch don’t you dismiss me like that, these tickets weren’t cheap_  
_You think I make all this money just to waste it on sluts like you?_  
I’m sure you can find someone else to go with. Bye.

You mute his messages and set your holocaster aside. Well, that was a blast from the past you never needed. You pray he gets me message and gives up. Spark sets your mug down on a bare patch of table and takes a seat on the sofa behind you. Boomer’s made his apple disappear and is licking his paws and doing that cute head-grooming thing rodents do.

“Oh, I see how it is. You like her better than me now?”

Your back stiffens and you want to snap something in return, when the little voice that coaches you to not make bad decisions tells you to chill out, it’s just Spark, and he’s just talking about Boomer.

“Kachuu, pi pika cha.”  
“He can like whoever he wants. Don’t come down on him for it.”  
“Nah, just teasing.”

A hand touches your back, and it’s probably meant to be reassuring, but you cringe away. You hear Spark blow on his tea and clear his throat. Your holocaster starts ringing and you reach for it. It’s Fen.

“Ugh, go away!”  
“Me, or the telemarketer?”  
“Not a telemarketer.”

You dismiss the call. No sooner do you lock the screen, he’s calling back. You frown and dismiss it again. You can feel your adrenaline pumping and a tightness forming in your nape that you know means a tension headache coming on. He calls a third time. You cave.

“Hi, I’m in a meeting. Can we talk later?”

More like never.

_“No, you’re not. I drove by your building the other day. It’s closed for renovations. Unless you’re working somewhere new?”_

When did he learn where you work? Has he been stalking you online? And then it hits you; your online resume. Shit.

_“Why are you avoiding me? You should be glad I’m even giving you a second chance. I mean, who would?”_  
“Maybe because you’re being really aggressive and rude? I don’t want to speak to you if you’re going to be like this.”  
_“I can’t help it, I miss you. Come on, I know you. You’re not with anyone. Don’t play so hard to get, honey.”_  
“I’m not playing. Just leave me alone.”  
_“Listen, I’m not asking much, just come out tonight. I’ll change your mind.”_  
“I already have a boyfriend!”  
_“Hey, don’t yell, I’m being nice. Besides, you and I both know you’re just bullshitting. Who else would want you? Huh? You think you’re all that?”_  
“Then why are you after me?”  
_“I’ll pick you up at seven. Try to wear actual clothes or I’ll put a bag on you and tape you in it.”_  
“What the fuck, are you threatening me? You don’t even know where I live.”  
_“Yeah, you’re right. So tell me.”_  
“I’m hanging up.”  
_“Don’t you fucking hang up, I’m not done-”_  
“Well I am!”

You hang up with a snarl. You clench your jaw and Boomer creeps out of your lap, ears and tail down. Great, you’re scaring him. And Spark’s like two feet away hearing all of this. You start shoving things away from yourself, trying to detangle yourself from the throw to get up and find somewhere to be alone. No doubt Fen’s going to call back _again_.

“That’s one pushy telemarketer.”

You stand and throw the little blanket at the floor with more hatred than it deserves. Spark’s looking at you, and your face feels hot, and you want to scream at him for lack of a proper target, but you know he doesn’t deserve it and it makes you feel worse. You want to hide away and not let him see you like this.

You feel like you’re about to cry when the holocaster goes off again.

“Don’t answer it.”  
“He’s going to keep at it until I do. He knows where I work. I’m so stupid. I put it on my profile.”  
“And if he shows up, call the cops. And then call me. You don’t deserve this.”  
“I’m worried he might ask where I live. What if he finds out and breaks in, or follows me home? What if he hurts Bo? W-what if he tries to hurt me? Or you?”

Your heart is pounding as the holocaster keeps ringing and ringing and you realize you’re breathing hard and that tension in your neck is turning into a pulsing ache, and everything is bad, why does Spark have to look at you like that, why does Fen have to be such a douche, are the walls closing in, why does it feel so hot in here-

“Let me answer it.”

You shake your head and feel your throat getting tight.

“You look like you’re having an attack. Give me the phone.”  
“Oh my god, what if he finds out where I live?”  
“Give me the phone.”

Spark gets up and takes you by the shoulders to the sofa and applies just enough force to make you sit. He doesn’t ask again, just yanks the holocaster out of your hands. You feel your lip tremble and draw your legs up, tuck your arms close, and glare at your knees, trying to make the tears fuck off. You want to disappear. Spark picks up the call.

“Hel- …Wow, man, do you talk to all women like that?”  
“Yeah, I’m her boyfriend.”  
“You think you’re impressing me talking shit about a girl who turned you down? Take a look at yourself.”  
“You should apologize to your mother for that.”  
“Oh, you will, huh? For someone with so much to brag about, you sound like a real piece of work. I hope we never meet. You really better hope we don’t.”  
“No, it’s a fucking promise. Forget about her and get a life. Get some help while you’re at it, you sound really fucked up, man.”  
“Yeah, same to you.”

You’re so ashamed and embarrassed, and feel even worse as the tears roll down your face. You couldn’t stand up to him. You had to be that weak-ass girl that gets her boyfriend to win her fights. Some independent woman you turned out to be. Your sniffling sounds loud in the quiet after Spark hangs up. He’s silent for a while, and then sets your holocaster on the coffee table and leaves. Of course he would leave, who wouldn’t be disgusted looking at you right now? You wish you could leave yourself here and go away, too. You dig your nails into your arms and hide your face as the first sob rattles you.

The cushions dip beside you and something solid taps against your shin. You raise your head just enough to make out Spark’s hand holding a box of tissues. You pluck a few sheets and hate the way your hand trembles.

“Do you want to be alone?”  
“Stay. I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”  
“You didn’t need to be involved.”  
“Whatever scares you this bad is something I need to be involved in. You don’t have to handle it alone.”

The box is set beside you and he rubs your other shin, hugging you without hugging you. You blow your nose and dry your eyes. Crying was exhausting and disgusting as it was; doing it in front of anyone else made you feel ugly and exposed.

“W-what did he say to you?”  
“Nothing credible. What did he say to you? Did he actually threaten you?”  
“Not really, but I’m scared he’ll ask someone at work where I live.”  
“I doubt it. If he ever comes around, I’ll put him in the hospital.”  
“No, please don’t.”  
“I also blocked him for you. Don’t answer him again.”

He reaches up to brush your hair back and kisses your forehead.

“I hate that you’re so upset.”  
“Spark, please don’t do anything bad.”  
“Nobody makes my girl cry.”  
“If you beat his ass and go to jail, that _would_ make me cry!”

You raise your head defiantly and give him a stern look that’s probably half as scolding as you’re imagining because of your puffy eyes and blotchy face. He strokes your face and at first he looks so angry -angry and helpless and worried. It’s frightening and endearing, knowing he’s that protective of you, that seeing you upset gets him fired up enough to declare violence. You wouldn’t want to be the dumbass that challenges him. You can’t remember the last man that looked at you like that.

And then he cracks a grin.

“You look so cute when you’re trying to be fierce.”  
“I’m scolding you. This is my scolding face.”  
“Ah, my bad. It’s a very cute scolding face.”  
“Don’t try and butter me up, you. You know why I’m giving you this look.”  
“Yes, and I appreciate it.”

His grin is slowly murdering your foul mood and you can’t help smiling just a little.

“Well, anyway, thanks for that. And sorry you had to get involved.”  
“No worries. What else are boyfriends for?”  
“Well, I’ve always wanted a ponyta…”  
“That can be arranged. It won’t fit in the apartment, though.”  
“Wait, what?”  
“Yeah, I know a really good breeder. Best horses in the region.”  
“Oh my god, Spark, I’m kidding! Don’t buy me a horse, I can’t afford to feed it!”

Spark laughs at that and you nervously giggle in suit. You’d have to watch what you say about pokemon around him. God knows what he’d bring home for you because of an offhand comment.

“I’m just messing with you.”  
“I better watch what I say around you.”  
“Or what? Afraid you’ll come home to a menagerie?”  
“Yes!”

His grin looks like mischief and you’re not so sure how much he’s messing with you and how much is frank generosity, but it makes you laugh again, and that feels so much better than panicking and crying.

“Ever gone riding, though? You have the build for it.”  
“A couple times as a kid. Petting zoos used to be all the rage at birthday parties.”  
“Got any pictures in that?” He nods towards your photo album.  
“Of me as a kid? Maybe?”  
“I wanna see!”  
“No! It’s so embarrassing! I was such an awkward kid.”  
“Aw c’mon. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”  
“You probably looked like those cherubs on Valentine’s cards.”  
“Show me~”

You let your legs down and get up to stretch. Your body feels awkward and tired, but you’re happy to have something else to focus on. You kneel at the table again and flip back to the front of the album as Spark joins you on the floor. He puts an arm around you and leans his chin on your shoulder to observe. Finally, you find a decent photo and point to it.

“There I am. All eight years of me.”  
“Aww, look at that cutie. Why do you say you were awkward?”  
“I shot up real fast, and was gangly forever. Tallest kid in the class until high school.”  
“Nah, you were just growing how you were supposed to. Look at you now.”

He smooches your neck and you giggle, ducking your head.

“Cute then, and real cute now.”  
“Thanks. Now let’s see you.”

He reaches back for his holocaster on the side table and starts rummaging through it with quick, precise taps. After a moment he hands it over. The kid in the picture looks about six or seven, chubby, red-cheeked and grinning at the camera like he was born joyful. The bowl cut of his golden hair isn’t flattering one bit, but you know it’s him by the eyes and smile. He’s wearing denim overalls and holding a beach ball almost as big as he is. You grin and cover your mouth, squealing a little with delight.

“Oh, no, you were such a cute little muffin!”  
“That’s actually my brother, but we look the same at that age. Mom never scanned my photos.”  
“You have a brother?”  
“Eight years my junior.”  
“Oh, man. So you looked exactly like this?”  
“Yup.”  
“Ugh, so cute. Look at those chubby little cheeks. Look at that smile, that’s so your smile.”  
“We all have the same smile, it’s actually kind of creepy.”  
“No, I like it. It’s really sweet.”

You hand back the holocaster and smile when you notice him blushing.

“Thanks. For cheering me up, and being comforting when I needed it.”  
“No need to thank me. You’ll get my bill in the mail.”

You laugh and give him a playful shove. He bumps you back with his shoulder and you lean up to peck his lips before he retreats.

“What’s the damage?”  
“You have to smile more. And kiss me.”  
“Oh, is that all? Pretty affordable.”

Spark leans closer again and you kiss him over your shoulder, a proper, lingering kiss.

“Again.”

He reaches up to brush your hair away and meets you halfway. You’re not sure what kind of therapy this is but you’re happy to pay the bill. You’re both a little warm and breathy when you break for air. His thumb is grazing the edge of your jaw. His gaze keeps flitting between your eyes and your lips and you smile slyly.

“If you want to make out, you just have to ask.”

Oh, how cute he looks when he’s caught.

“I didn’t know if you were up to it.”  
“You didn’t ask.”  
“Wanna make out?”

Your grin is his answer and you both giggle. He kisses the corner of your mouth and you shift your legs around so you can face him. Your mouths meet and he pulls your legs across his lap, keeping his hand there and stroking your yoga pants-covered thigh. You reach up to run a hand through his mostly-dry hair and over the back of his neck.

Did you want to make out? What a silly question.  
It was kind of him to consider your feelings.  
Yes, it was. Still have no solution about jackass, however.  
Maybe Spark scared him straight.  
Hope so.  
He would seriously fight for you. You are so lucky.  
Won’t be very romantic bailing him out of jail.  
Admit it, you like it, though.

Your back lands on the rug as Spark lays over you. He goes for your neck and you arch a little into the feel of his hand moving up your body and under your shirt to your waist. You reach under his and lightly scratch your nails over his back. He arches into it and moans, and you’d giggle if you weren’t gasping at the way he’s biting your ear. You feel him shift between your legs and graze a leg up against his hips, sliding your foot down the back of his thigh. You know what your eyes have seen, but feeling his body is a different story altogether. There’s a lot of power under his skin that gives you giddy butterflies thinking about what riding him would be like.

Spark kisses your lips again, and you reach for the hand on your waist. He begins to withdraw, probably thinking he’s overstepped his bounds. You pull his hand higher. He gets the gist and cups a breast through your shirt. He’s kissing you deeper, like he’s been deprived and can’t hold back. His hand moves and tightens a little, and his thumb has found your nipple and you’re too breathless to even gasp. Your thighs tighten around his hips and Spark drops his weight against you and holy shit, he’s very happy to be there.

You break for desperately needed air, though your gasps aren’t entirely for oxygen. His lips graze your cheek, your ear. His breathing sounds shaky and you wonder if he wouldn’t mind you helping him out. You shift your hips and the next grind hits you right where it counts and you moan aloud. His teeth graze your throat, sending shivers down your spine.

There’s a knock at the door. You both freeze, trying to stifle your breathing like they might hear you through the door and across the apartment.

“Did you hear a knock?”  
“Yeah. Were we loud?”  
“No?”  
“Are you expecting anything?”  
“No, you?”  
“No. Let’s ignore it.”

You kiss him and reach down to grope his ass and resume your activities when the knock comes again.

“Shh, we’re not home.”  
“But what if it’s important?”  
“More important than what we’re doing now?”

Spark seems to think so, because he’s getting up and offering you a hand off the floor. You groan and hope whoever’s on the other side of that door has a legitimate emergency. A third knock echoes across the apartment and Spark gives you an apologetic look. You shrug and gesture to go forth and take care of it. He adjusts his sweatpants and heads for the front door and you plunk yourself on the couch as you hear it open.

A child’s voice asks about purchasing cookies. Spark sounds like he’s trying to politely turn her away, but she apparently recognizes him from Halloween, and now he’s shit out of luck, and so are you. You take up your now ice-cold tea from the table and gulp it down, then sigh heavily as you hear the girl chipperly announce she can take wireless transfers via holocaster.

Spark is not getting out of this one easy.

_I cannot believe I got cockblocked by Girl Scout cookies._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	4. You’re on my naughty list

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has bad days. Everyone has a breaking point, and handles stress differently. Everyone makes stupid, human mistakes, and sometimes people get hurt. 
> 
> It's what you do after that, that defines you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

Holiday ads are going up all over town and the weather just can’t seem to decide what it wants to do. You’ve been feeling a little under the weather from the yoyo-ing temperatures and going to bed early to fight getting any worse. Spark’s been coming home late every night, so you barely get to see each other before you both crash out. He’s been moody lately and has repeatedly brushed off your attempts to talk about it. You wonder if he might be coming down with something, too.

He comes home one Thursday night even more subdued and distracted than lately. Even Boomer and Dash look wiped out and creep off to join Bojangles. You try offering to make him something, or to listen to whatever’s eating at him, and after a few minutes of banter with no real explanation, you opt for just hugging him. This, he responds to, and you end up cuddled together on the sofa, his head on your chest and your fingers playing with his hair.

“Everything ok?”

He issues a non-committal grunt.

“Well, if you’re not in the mood to talk, then I will. Work’s been stupid busy. Like, today -just today!- we got the revised specs for-”

Spark lifts his head and shuts you up with a kiss. Alright, you were fine with kissing if it lightened the mood. You feel him shift to lay over you and oblige to give him more room by hooking one leg over the back of his. There’s a bit more shifting and then his hips pressing against yours. You moan against his lips, and he shifts again, and his hips are pressing harder, and it’s a little uncomfortable being that he’s in raw denim and you’re in yoga pants, but you’ll take it. You break for air, gasping. He doesn’t miss a beat and goes for your neck.

You use your leg for leverage to grind your hips into his, earning a moan against your throat. Can’t tell if he’s getting hard, but he seemed to like that. You feel a hand reach under your t-shirt –pajamas, essentially- and he kisses you again, caressing up your body and cupping a breast. You’re twitching with every tease of his thumb over your nipple, and you’re wondering if he’ll give in and you two can fuck already.

You part only so you can drag his shirt off, and then he’s throwing you back down and pulling up yours. Your back arches as he kisses and licks your chest. He humps you again, and the friction is little relief from the mounting pressure. His strength borders on painful, but you figure he’s just had enough waiting. You grab his hand and guide it between your bodies, between your legs. You want to get wet and find out what he’s like.

Spark takes the hint and strokes you through your pants, and it’s enough to make you see stars and arch your hips for more. He gets bored of that fast and shoves his hand underneath the fabric instead, flush against your skin. His mouth covers yours and his kiss is hard and lusty. Your hips want to move but he just strokes you, teasing fingertips where you wish you could have more. You’ll have to settle for fingers at the moment; he’s easing two in, getting a feel for your tension. You break for air, turning your head aside. Your gasps sound a bit loud and whimpery. He licks your bared throat.

He works you until you’re rocking into his hand, until you’re sure he’s covered in your wet now. He’s not gentle about it, but you’re not sure you care. Suddenly he’s brushing that one, intensely good place, and your hips are bucking.

“Oh, god, please do that again.”

Your voice is shaky, and you feel like you’re quivering all over. You wait for it again, but he’s not moving his hand; in fact, he’s pulling free and reaching up to pull your shirt down and –wait, what the hell?

“Spark?”

At first you’re too confused to make sense of things, but it’s pretty clear he intends to back off and leave. Your lust turns a different shade of red at that.

“Is something wrong?”  
“I should not be doing this.”  
“What? Why? You can’t just walk away.”  
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now.”  
“What the fuck; no, talk to me!”

You chase after him, feeling all kinds of hurt and angry and naked. This wasn’t fair… It wasn’t supposed to happen like this! He’s jamming his sneakers on and rifling through the hall closet for his jacket.

“Where are you going? Explain what just happened! You don’t get to play with me and then drop me when you’re bored!”  
“I know, and I’m sorry.”

You grab the door as he’s leaving.

“Where are you going?”  
“I need a run.”

He leaves before you can say anything else and you’re so torn between chasing him down the stairs, and slamming the door after him. You’re starting to tear up and you can’t even begin to explain to yourself why. You shut the door without slamming it and slink off to your room, angry and confused about Spark and angry with yourself for being hasty and not taking heed of the warning signs that something wasn’t right.

It’s late when you hear him come in and start a shower. You turn out your light and pretend you’re already asleep.

 

You don’t speak to him for the next few days and make plans to be out all weekend just to avoid crossing paths. You keep thinking: this is it. There goes our relationship, our friendship, the whole shebang. You can’t stop thinking over what happened, wondering if you did something wrong, if he was uncomfortable with something and embarrassed, if you pushed things too far.

More than anything, you feel a little afraid of him. He’d been rough, grabby, not at all the sweet man you thought you knew. What if this was really him? What if everything until now had been a sham, a con to make you believe he was worth letting in? Was this just the tip of the iceberg? Would things get even worse from here on?

That Sunday, you’re out crawling a bookstore with Blizzard, trying to help him pick out a gift for Rose when Spark messages you.

_I don’t know if you want to talk, but I want you to know what happened has nothing to do with you. You didn’t do anything wrong._

You stare at the message for a long time, unable to respond, unable to comprehend his words or find your own. You begin typing _why?_ and then change it.

We need to talk.  
_I’ll be home around six._  
Ok.  
_I’m sorry, baby, please don’t hate me._

Blizzard finds you in the Romance aisles staring at those words and trying not to cry. He hugs you and asks if you’re ok and you just show him your screen.

“What does this even mean?”  
“Uh… shit, I don’t know. He’s definitely fucked something up. How long have you been together?”  
“Like, a month?”  
“I’m sorry, please don’t hate me… Do you know if he was maybe seeing someone else?”  
“You think he’s cheating?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe someone he was with just before you came around again? I don’t know the guy, I can’t tell what he’s thinking.”  
“Why would you ever write something like this to Rose? If you had reason to?”  
“Definitely if I broke her sewing machine or camera. That would be a severe violation of the peace.”  
“But if you just walked away in the middle of doing things?”

He opens his mouth, pauses and holds up a finger.

“I’m going to hazard you don’t mean building furniture.”  
“No.”  
“Eesh…”

He looks uncomfortable and rubs the back of his neck.

“Not that I want to put him down, or anything, but could he maybe… not perform? And he’s too embarrassed to say it?”  
“I doubt it. I mean we’re not there yet but… No.”  
“Maybe he was having a bad day, week, month? I don’t know.”  
“Then he should have talked to me!”  
“Yeah, he should have. But most guys aren’t into the whole sharing feelings thing. Feels like exposing your weaknesses to someone who needs you to be strong. It’s like admitting you can’t be strong for them and you’re letting them down.”

You gnaw your lip as you turn that over in your head, which is quickly becoming an echo chamber of ever more negative thoughts. Blizzard glances around and hones in on a spine.

“Hey, isn’t this from that series she’s reading?”  
“Hm? Yeah, that’ll do. I know she doesn’t have that one, yet.”

He plucks it off the shelf and raises a pierced eyebrow at the cover.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t read any of it.”  
“No kidding.”  
“No, I mean it’s total garbage.”  
“You don’t dig this kind of thing?”  
“I’ll take plot and magical girls over whatever that’s supposed to be. But Rose likes it, so it’s a winner.”  
“Yeah, guess so. Thanks. Did you want to grab anything?”  
“Not really. I should start heading home. Better rip this bandaid sooner than later.”  
“Alright, good luck. Let’s all go for drinks if you still haven’t kicked his ass out the door.”

You hug him again and issue your farewells. It’s dark out and the crowded streets are lit up in brightly-colored lights. Every ad you pass is screaming about sexy lingerie, discount tvs, and romantic new year’s getaways. You plug in your earphones and put on some music to block out the holiday jingles as you head for the subway. You’re the only one in your car sitting alone.

Bojangles yaps and circles you when you come in, and you bend to grab his little face and kiss his forehead. Spark’s boots aren’t on the mat. You go around the apartment to turn on the twinkle-lights and head to the kitchen to feed your pet. The front door thumps shut and you hear Spark sniffling from the damp cold. You turn on the water to wash your hands and put your back to the doorway.

“Um, hey.”

Spark’s in the doorway. You glance over your shoulder at him.

“Hey. How was your day?”  
“Was ok.”

You shut off the water and grab the hand towel off the oven handle. It’s the most thorough hand washing and drying you’ve ever committed. Spark approaches and a crinkle of plastic snags your curiosity and tugs your gaze to him. He’s holding a bouquet carefully enveloped in cellophane to shield them from the cold. He looks scared and sorry and miserable.

“I didn’t know which ones you liked,” he stammers and holds them out to you.

Spark got you flowers. Not just flowers, but an entire I Fucked Up bouquet.

You blink and look him over, then look at the flowers again. The towel is set aside and you accept the offering. They’re a mixed bunch, garden-variety, but there’s a pair of gracideas at the center of it all.

“Are you cheating on me?”

It’s so vulgar and out there that you both recoil at your words.

“No-”  
“Then why is all this happening? Why did you run away?”  
“Because I fucked up, and I’m sorry.”  
“I get that, but why? Were you embarrassed of something? Did I do something wrong? Did you see your ex? What? _Tell me_.”

You swallow and try to catch your breath. You’re close to being hysterical, and you definitely want to cry, but you’re doing an ace job of keeping it together. You clutch the flowers against you. Why the hell did he get gracideas?

“I’ve been having a rough couple of weeks, and I kind of snapped and took it out on you.”  
“You call that taking it out on me? Is that what you think sex is about? I’m not your toy, Spark! How dare you?”  
“No, please don’t think of it that way. I just wanted to make you happy. Everything’s been going wrong lately, and I just wanted to do one thing right.”  
“You know what would make me happy? You talking to me instead of trying to fuck me because you’re in a bad mood.”

Hit the nail on the head. There’s no better way to put it, and by the look on his face, he knows it’s true.

“You said I wasn’t a convenience.”  
“You aren’t, I promise you. It was a mistake, a bad decision. I realized what I was doing and freaked out.”  
“So, you just left.”  
“I was afraid to be around you.”  
“Are you saying this could happen again?”  
“No, never! I don’t know why I did this. I don’t know why I’m doing anything lately.”

Spark rakes his hands through his hair and sniffles again and this time it’s not because of the cold. You fight your anger into a low simmer and watch him carefully.

“What aren’t you telling me?”  
“I almost missed the renewal on the gym. If I lose the gym, me and everyone who works there are out of a job. The guy who stole my shit? Tried to make a new account pretending to be me. Twice. And the bank staff looked at me like I was the criminal.”  
“What else?”  
“Bombed a lot of battles, had to give a kid a badge he didn’t deserve because I couldn’t focus. My old holocaster came back, but it was wiped.”  
“What else?”

He shakes his head and swallows hard.

“You owe it to me to explain what the hell happened the other night. If we’re still in this relationship, you have to talk to me, Spark. What else is there?”

He takes a breath and his voice sounds awful.

“My best friend just got dumped and he’s been talking some really bad shit, and I’m scared for him. They had to pump his stomach. I think he tried to OD. I feel like I missed the signs, like I failed him.”

He backs away and sits on the edge of the table, head down and hands restless.

“And now I’m failing you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you, or scare you, or make you doubt me. I’m not that guy, I’ve never been that guy. You didn’t deserve what I did, and I know why you’re mad, and that’s why I’m freaked out right now.”  
“Why?”  
“I’m worried this could end us. And I don’t want that.”  
“You should have thought about what you were doing before doing it. You should have talked to me.”  
“You’re right. I don’t know what happened to me. Please, please believe me when I say that’s not me. I care about you, I want to protect you from everything bad in this world!”

His voice cracks and you bite your lip like you’re the one holding back tears. Despite your anger and disappointment, when he looks at you, it feels like someone has driven a knife into your chest and you’re too shocked to feel the pain yet, only a vicious, cold twisting. You would have let him have his way, and it scares you. Were he anyone else, you would be throwing his things out in boxes on the stairwell, but the thought of being without him scares you even more. When did that start to be a thing?

“I want to believe you,” you begin saying, but it feels hollow and wounded.  
“Please.”  
“But I’m still hurt that you would try to take advantage of me like that, when you know I would have let you and not known the difference.”  
“I hate myself for doing this to you. I hate the way you’re looking at me.”  
“And I’m mad at myself for not stopping you when it felt off. I should have.”  
“What can I do? How do I make you want to trust me again?”  
“I don’t know. I need time.”

The room feels heavy with a multitude of storming emotions. You feel a bit nauseous from the whole discussion and part of you wishes it could be swept under the rug and forgotten. But you’ll both be tripping on it if you don’t deal with it, and as much as it hurts, you hope you can come back from this.

“Why gracideas?”  
“What?”  
“The flowers.”  
“I thought they were pretty. You don’t like them?”  
“You normally give them to someone as thanks, not because you fucked up.”

You pull a vase down from the cupboard and set it under the kitchen faucet to fill. You’re trying to think about nothing as you unwrap the flowers.

“Is he ok, your friend?”  
“They’ve had him in the hospital since Tuesday. Suicide watch, it’s a protocol thing.”  
“Has he been depressed long?”  
“No. I mean, I don’t even know. It just came out of nowhere. How did I not see it?”  
“You should visit.”  
“Y-yeah. I will.”

The vase is overflowing. The flowers perfume the air as you separate them and trim the stems. The sweetness makes your stomach clench. Spark gets up and shuts off the water. He seems to know better than to come any closer, and when he speaks, he sounds as tired as you feel.

“I just know that I’m glad I met you. That’s why I got them. I know what they mean. I hope you do, too.”

 

Rose calls you the next day during your lunch break, and from the very start, you know she heard about things from Blizzard. You don’t begrudge him telling her, since Rose was his girlfriend and your best friend since moving, but you know storytelling isn’t his forte.

_“What’s all this about you and your boyfriend having a spat? First of all, since when do you have a boyfriend?”_  
“Actually, it’s my roommate.”  
_“Wait, what? Is this the guy you said was perfect but was afraid wanted you back? The one with circumstances?”_  
“One and the same.”  
_“Alright, caught up. But my question remains the same.”_  
“He did something… stupid. Like, wrong-stupid.”

Rose snickers and you hear her distantly order something.

_“Sorry, coffee run.”_  
“It’s ok.”  
_“Anyway, stupid-wrong? Pft, he’s a guy.”_  
“No, like this was more wrong than stupid.”

You glance around to be sure nobody’s too close by to overhear you and then quietly explain.

_“So, you’ve never gone that far with him and you thought it was his normal?”_  
“Yeah. I kind of hate myself for not speaking up when it stopped feeling right. Even if it was his normal, it wasn’t ok, not for me.”  
_“Right. Have you talked, or are you plotting his murder as we speak?”_  
“Rose!”  
_“We’d all say it was a crime of passion.”_  
“No, we talked. I mean, I avoided him for a few days.”  
_“Understandable. And?”_  
“He brought flowers.”  
_“Oh, no, he didn’t. I Fucked Up flowers?”_  
“Yeah. He was really upset, really angry with himself. He almost started crying when he admitted he thought we were over, like I would never forgive him.”  
_“Aww. That’s really cute. He’d have to be a hell of an actor to fake that.”_  
“I just don’t know what to do now.”  
_“What do you mean? You talked. You sound like you want to keep going.”_  
“But I… I don’t know how.”

Rose was quiet at that, and you gaze at the far edge of the table, trying to put your tangled feelings into words.

“I really like him, and I don’t want to give up this early. But how do you come back from something like this?”  
_“I wish I knew.”_  
“How do I trust him not to hurt me again?”  
_“How do you trust anyone? You just have to. If he’s been having a bad time lately, this was probably a stupid one-time accident. If he was that upset about his actions, it has to be a first. It sounds like he’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”_

You sigh and pick at your food. You haven’t been eating much lately. You think about leaving work early.

_“I’ve listened to you gripe about practically every Tom, Dick, and Harry in town and now you finally found a gem. Don’t you fuck it up, girl. Nobody’s perfect. If you want him, you have to take this as part of the package.”_  
“How do I know he won’t hurt me again? That’s what I’m afraid of.”  
_“If he does, you come straight to me and we’ll get the cops.”_  
“He said the same thing about my ex.”  
_“You have an ex, now? What next, are we not even friends?”_  
“Well, a guy I was kind of getting serious about. It all happened so fast, and I wasn’t really thinking about him.”  
_“Uh huh. I’ll bet. And the ex did what?”_  
“Rude, belligerent calls and messages. Admitted he drove by my work after we stopped seeing each other. Tried to make me say where I lived, and then I kind of lost my shit thinking about him asking someone at work.”  
_“No wonder he’s your ex.”_  
“Seriously.”  
_“Well, all I can say is believe in the power of glittering, pastel love and trust your instincts.”_

Her words serve their purpose in making you laugh, and she giggles.

_“Bliz says we’re supposed to do drinks. Does Saturday work for you?”_  
“Yeah. I’ll see what the boy says.”  
_“And no more of this keeping me out of the loop. Especially after current events.”_

Her tone sounds serious, despite the levity of her words. You know what subtext lies between them: _especially if you suspect your boyfriend could hurt you again, don’t you dare go silent._

“I’ll keep you updated. Thanks, Rosie. Love you.”  
_“Love you back. You eating?”_  
“Yeah, well, was. Haven’t felt great lately.”  
_“Oh, I know. This crazy-ass weather needs to pick a season and stay with it. I found this amazing tea, though. It turned my sniffles around overnight. I’ll message you the name after we hang up.”_  
“Yeah, please do. I can’t seem to shake whatever’s hounding me. Like, not legit sick, but not feeling healthy either.”  
_“Maybe you’re also feeling a little extra vulnerable about the boy because of your wannabe-cold?”_  
“Maybe.”  
_“Anyway, I’m really glad I got to talk to you. Bliz made it sound vague, and you know how I always interpret that.”_  
“Where you off to now?”  
_“Vlogger meetup! I’ll post the photos later.”_  
“Aw, ok. Have fun! Make good choices!”  
_“You too!”_

You flag down your server and ask for a coffee and the bill, and bag what remains of your lunch for dinner. Waste not, want not. Your holocaster chimes and you pick it up, curious about this magical healing tea Rose unearthed. It chimes again. The first message is a notice from your bank, the next is from Rose. Frowning, you tap the first alert and let it load your banking app. There’s a new transfer, and for a moment you wonder if it’s a mistake. You open the detailed view and gloss over it, looking for anything suspicious.

_Thanks for covering for me, you’re the best._

It’s more money than you’ve gotten in a single pay, and for a moment you try to remember what your rent is and if he fudged the numbers, but it adds up; last month, this, and next month’s in advance. You transfer the money to your savings and admire the inflated numbers for a moment. Your coffee arrives and you quit the banking app and open your messages to reply to Spark: _Got your pay. Thanks!_

You prepare your coffee and bring up Rose’s message. She’s sent a photo of the package, along with the name, brand, and what store she found it in. Typical Rose, thorough to a fault. You copy it to your calendar with an alarm to remind you to pay the store a visit after work. You sip your coffee and sigh in relief as the warmth soothes your throat. Another alert across the top of the screen turns your gaze. Spark’s reply is a picture of Dash looking confused and overwhelmed, the entirety of Dusty’s brood perched on him. They have most of their feathers in, now.

What a beautiful family  
_Aren’t they? I heard you coughing this morning. You ok?_  
Been fighting a cold lately. Sorry if I woke you  
_No worries, was already up. Feel better <3_

 

It’s raining when you leave work to get the tea and stop in at the pharmacy to pick up some cold medicine and painkillers. As you’re approaching a crosswalk, you spot a car barreling through the intersection and don’t back away fast enough. The deep puddles accumulated around the curb provide the munitions for your assault, and it’s all you can do to cringe and yelp while still retreating helplessly. Your wool button-down and pants are soaked with the car’s dirty wake and you pray none of it got in your mouth. Spluttering and winded from the cold, you stare after the car in furious disbelief.

You shoulder the door shut when you finally make it home. The walk had felt twice as long and if you weren’t already running a fever, you sure were now. Your hands are shaking and numb. Getting out of your coat and boots feels like trying to thread a needle while wearing oven mitts. You’d kill for some warm, cushy oven mitts right now. The wool is drenched and wants for a (likely expensive) visit to the dry-cleaners. You wrestle your boots off and set them aside to dry, and lock the door. You waste no time fighting your clinging pants off before you step further into the apartment. The pants go straight into the washing machine and the rest of your bags are left in the kitchen. You head directly into the bathroom for a hot shower.

Warm and dressed cozily, you put your shopping away, brew a cup of tea, and crash on the sofa with a movie about a little witch setting out on her own in a new town. You’re out cold by the time she lands on the train headed for the coast.

The next thing you know, you’re being shaken and Spark’s leaning over you.

“No, I don’t want to be a witch. I can’t fly.”  
“What?”  
“Huh?”  
“Are you awake?”

He’s laughing a little. Your head feels like it’s full of pudding. You want to go back to sleep.

“I want to sleep. Is my head pudding?”

He laughs harder.

“No?”  
“Then why does it feel like it is?”  
“Because you’re running a fever and you’re sick.”  
“No, but I made special tea.”  
“Did you drink any?”  
“No.”  
“Then it’s not helping. I’ll warm it up for you. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

You sit up and startle.

“Crap, what time is it? I didn’t feed Bo.”  
“Don’t worry about it. I fed him.”  
“You did?”  
“Yeah, you were crashed out when I came in. Figured you weren’t feeling great, and he was crying.”  
“Aww, my little Bo was crying? I’m such a bad mom!”  
“You’re not a bad mom-”  
“I’m a really bad mom!”

You felt the tears well up and pour in great rivulets.

“I’m all he has and I forgot to feed him! I’m terrible!”  
“Hey, don’t cry, it’s alright. I took care of it. Bo’s alright, ok?”  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to forget. I got splashed by this asshole car.”  
“That wasn’t nice.”  
“No, it wasn’t! I was freezing cold and I think I had a fever and I felt like shit.”  
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Spark puts his arm around you and you assume he wants to hug you, so you beat him to it. He’s wonderfully warm.

“Woah –ok, hugging. Alright, then.”  
“I’m a bad girlfriend. I’m sorry!”  
“No you’re not. Did you take anything?”  
“No, but my head hurts. Why does my head have to hurt?”  
“Because you’re crying and you’re sick. Stop crying.”  
“I can’t.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because I feel bad. I’m tired and I feel bad about everything. I feel bad about you, and Bo, and I feel like shit.”  
“Bo is fine. He still loves you. Why do you feel bad about me?”  
“Because I don’t know how to feel right now! I really like you and I want to keep liking you. But I don’t know how to trust you.”

You’re sobbing with that admission, and your head feels like it’s about to split apart but you can’t seem to turn off the water works. Something inside you just keeps egging you on, telling you you need this, and it does feel good to get it out. So, you just cry.

“I really like you, too.”  
“You do?”  
“Yeah. Do you trust me?”  
“Mn.”  
“Then how come you say you can’t?”

Your voice sounds small and trembling.

“Because you scared me, and I’m mad at myself.”  
“Don’t be mad at yourself, you didn’t do anything wrong.”  
“I should have told you to stop. I’m a stupid slut.”  
“Hey, that’s my girlfriend you’re insulting. Apologize.”

He sounds so offended it makes you pause and sniffle back your tears, wondering what you did wrong. You’re tired and confused and Spark seems upset and you don’t know what else to say except:

“I’m sorry.”  
“And it wasn’t your fault. Stop coming down on yourself.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“And I’m sorry for scaring you.”  
“Ok, apology accepted.”  
“Now stop crying and go to bed.”  
“Ok.”

You’re a little dizzy but you make it to the bathroom to use the toilet, blow your nose, and splash some water on your face. Bojangles is on your bed and you sit on the edge to pet him and ask his forgiveness. He rolls over to show his belly and you almost start crying again. Spark walks in and sets a mug on your nightstand and takes up the box of cold medicine you left on your nightstand.

“You should take two now and wait until morning before you take any more. Hey, come on. Leave Bo alone and get into bed.”

You sniffle as you pull the blankets down and get in. He hands you the mug and two pills popped fresh from the packaging. Your head feels stupendously awful. You actually wonder if someone tried to cleave it open with an axe while you were sleeping. You take a cautious sip and find it safe to gulp. Medicine and tea, down the hatch. Spark takes the empty mug back and tugs the bedding over you once you’re flat.

“You’re really nice.”  
“Thanks. Do you need anything else?”  
“I’m good.”

Spark leans over and kisses your forehead.

“Goodnight.”  
“Goodnight.”

 

It’s light out when you come to again, and you feel loads better, albeit rather groggy. Bojangles is curled up at the foot of your bed, and he gets up to stretch and daintily make his way over to you when he spies you’re awake. You smile and reach out to pet him. He nuzzles against your hand.

“Hey, Bo. Were you worried about me?”  
“Buii.”  
“You’re such a sweet boy.”

You yawn and sluggishly get out of bed to find your holocaster and the bathroom. The former says it’s seven AM. Your grogginess says it’s even earlier. You type out a brief email to your boss and read it a few times to be sure it sounds right, then hit send. After visiting the bathroom, you get back into bed with your holocaster. Your usual alarms are turned off, and you set one for ten. Your eevee marches around on your bed a bit more and then hops off and leaves the room. You wake up a few hours later to the tune of your holocaster.

You check the weather app and regretfully remove yourself from your bedding to start going through your wardrobe for an outfit for work. You prepare Bojangles’ breakfast and hit the shower to wash the sickly feeling away. Boomer peeks out of Spark’s room as you quietly pad through the hall in your slippers. Dressed and with your hair in a towel, you get your breakfast started with another cup of that tea. Whatever was in that stuff was godly, and if it meant not having to take that medicine that made you groggy, so much the better. You look at the flowers on the table as the kettle begins to boil. They really were pretty, in a simplistic, honest sort of way. No pomp or higher expectations, like roses or lilies.

Boomer joins you for breakfast and you set a spoonful of jam on a saucer for him to lick at. You didn’t know much about pikachu, but you’d observed Spark long enough to pick up a few cues, namely that they liked fruit and other naturally sweet things. You watch his ears perk as the bathroom door closes and figure Spark’s up.

You’re gingerly sipping your tea now that it’s cooled a bit when Spark pauses in the kitchen doorway and looks at you and his pikachu. You pet Boomer’s head, smoothing his ears down and smirk a little when you notice he’s ignoring Spark.

“Well, look at you getting special treatment.”  
“I gave him jam. I hope that’s ok.”  
“Normally it’s a treat, like candy, but yeah, it’s fine.”

He continues his way in and starts cleaning out the coffee maker.

“How are you feeling?”  
“A lot better. I think this tea really works. The medicine probably helped, too, but it made me groggy as hell.”  
“Are you going in today?”  
“Yeah, told my boss I’d come in for the afternoon.”

The coffee maker beeps when Spark turns it on and a moment later the sound of gurgling water fills the quiet.

“I talked to Cane. They let him go home.”  
“Oh? How is he doing?”  
“It was a complete misunderstanding. He took too many different things all at once and it was a bad reaction. They assumed it was intentional only because of the breakup.”  
“Are you sure it was an accident?”  
“He started some new medication and the pharmacist said it would be fine with the rest of his usual meds. Guy’s probably going to lose his license when the hospital investigates.”  
“Serves him right. I’m really glad your friend’s ok. Are you ok?”  
“I’m so relieved. And he’s sorry for talking crazy. He’s dealing with it better.”  
“At least it’s only that and it didn’t cause any permanent damage. You seem a lot better now.”

He nods and rakes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. It occurs to you you’ve never seen him first thing in the morning, before he’s all groomed and dressed and probably already having run circles around the block. He looks rumpled, content, and still sleepy around the edges. You check your holocaster.

“Shoot, I better finish getting ready.”  
“Are you ok?”  
“Come talk to me in the bathroom.”

You blow-dry your hair and put the front and crown up in rollers and blast it with a little more heat. You start on your concealer when Spark fills the doorway, coffee in hand.

“Thanks for looking after me. Was I really weird last night?”  
“Define weird.”  
“I seem to remember crying all over you and something about pudding. I can’t tell if I dreamed it or not.”  
“No, that happened.”  
“Oh my god…”  
“It was the fever talking.”  
“Yes, let’s go with that.”

Your powder is applied with fluttering, precise strokes, and a neutral eyeshadow is swept on next. Your eyes are still slightly puffy from the crying, but you’ll make the best of it. You reach for your eyeliner.

“Are you, um, ok?”  
“Yeah, I feel way better.”  
“I meant about us.”

You’re silent as you draw little wings and line the edge of your eyelashes. You’re trying to decide what to say.

“A friend once said you can’t trust anybody. But we’re social animals, we need each other, so we have to trust some people if we want them near us.”

You curl and mascara your lashes. He’s patiently waiting to see if you’ll say more.

“All I know is I want you. I think that alone scares me. The rest is my problem to work through. As long as it never happens again.”  
“It won’t. I promise.”

You start in on your eyebrows and glance at his reflection in the mirror. He’s watching your every movement.

“I can do yours next.”

It makes him laugh and you smile and look back at your own face.

“I’ll pass, thanks. It’s just really interesting to watch.”  
“You know, there’s a whole industry of videos out there of girls doing their makeup. Some guys, too.”  
“I’d rather watch you.”

You look away, feeling your face get warm. You pick out your lipstick and liner, hoping your skin cools down before you have to do your blush. You reach up to start undoing your rollers.

“Why does it scare you?”  
“Because it does.”  
“A real answer, this time.”  
“I don’t… Because it’s been a while. And it never works out.”

Your heart starts pounding and you gnaw your lip, stroking your hair with no real purpose. It’s an idle touch seeking comfort.

“Are you afraid we won’t work out?”  
“I’m afraid of a lot of things.”  
“Let’s start with the first. I won’t give up on you or us. I won’t let you give up on yourself, either. You might resent me for it, but I don’t care.”  
“How would you know how I feel about myself?”  
“You told me last night. And I’m not blind; I’ve watched you go through like, ten guys since I got here. So, either you’re shit at picking men –which I think is untrue because here I am- or you’re unwilling to settle because of something inside you that you can’t deal with.”  
“Sure have a high opinion of yourself. You can’t just…”  
“I’m just stating my hypothesis. I don’t know what your thing is, or how it got there or why. I don’t know if it matters. I’m just letting you know I won’t let it push you away from me.”

Your lip starts to tremble and you blink rapidly, raising hands to fan your face before you screw up your makeup. You sniffle and take a deep breath.

“Shit, sorry.”  
“Can you stop with the deep, emotional proclamations at least until I get through the day? You can make me cry when I get home.”

He laughs and comes in to set his coffee on the counter among your makeup brushes and hugs you.

“No. I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you cry.”  
“They weren’t unhappy tears.”  
“I don’t want to ruin your makeup, either. You were doing such a good job at it.”

You snort at that and smile.

“Thank you.”  
“Can I kiss you before you do your lipstick?”  
“I might still be contagious.”  
“I’ll drink that magic tea of yours.”  
“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He cups your face and softly kisses you, and the scent of coffee and his skin feels like coming home. When did that start to be a thing?

“I need to finish my hair.”

You kiss him back, in no real hurry to pull away. It feels like forever since you last kissed him. You’d be so down for kissing him all day if you didn’t feel a bit guilty for being sick, and having to work. He smiles against your lips.

“Am I stopping you?”

He nips at your lip and you give chase, claiming another kiss. You both giggle and he makes a point of pulling away.

“Alright, alright. I don’t want you to be late.”

You steal a sip of his coffee before handing it back to him and begin sectioning your hair to braid.

“What are your plans for today?”  
“Shopping, maybe get a haircut.”  
“Gift shopping?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Am I on your list?”  
“You’re on my naughty list.”  
“Oh, dear, I’ve fucked up now. Will that be one lump of coal, or two?”  
“You’ll have to wait and see. That is so neat, how are you doing that?”  
“What, braiding my hair? It’s a Kalosian braid.”  
“Yeah, but it looks really cool.”  
“It’s just a braid that you keep adding to. Does it look ok where my hands are? Not lumpy or anything?”  
“Looks fine.”

You deftly braid the rest, tie it off, and grab some hairspray to smooth out the flyaways. You reach up to start tugging the weave slightly loose and work your way down again. Your blush goes on next, and then you start repacking your makeup into the case. As you’re doing your lips, Spark leans his head on the door frame and sighs.

“You’re so pretty.”

Your parted lips smile a little more at that. You blot your lips and finish putting away your things and Spark steps away from the door just enough to make you squeeze against him to get by. He totally did that on purpose. You head to your room to grab your purse and perfume, lipstick and liner in hand for touch-ups.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot. My friends invited us out for drinks on Saturday.”  
“What time?”  
“Not sure. I’ll make them wait until you’re done work. Just the four of us.”  
“Sure, I can make it.”  
“I’m off. Have fun shopping. The stores should be quiet today.”  
“They usually are. Have a good day.”

 

You message Rose on Friday to follow up on Saturday’s plans. A few hours go by before you get a reply.

btw, your tea saved my relationship and destroyed my cold 10/10  
_I’m so happy for you! can’t make it saturday. we both got food poisoning_  
What? OMG how bad? can I bring you anything?  
_I just want to eat anything solid right now and not revisit it_  
_Ok for now. May want ice cream tomorrow_  
Should you be eating that?  
_I CAN’T EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW ;o;_  
I’m sorry :( Is Bliz ok?  
_He’s worse. If he doesn’t perk up by tonight, I’m calling an ambulance_  
shit I’m so sorry. Keep me posted ok? If you need anything at all…  
_Seeking Sushi is getting the worst Yelp review and a bashing on my blog. I’m missing a VIP event because of this!_  
Which ice cream do you want?  
_green tea or orange sorbet_  
Copy that. I hope you both feel better!!  
_You know what true love is? It’s not romantic dinners or sex or shopping for curtains. It’s him holding my hair when I’m puking & he’s too sick to stand himself. _  
You should tell him that. He’s been dying to hear you say that… well… kinda that :S  
_Yeah, yeah…_  
Believe in love, Rosie :3  
_lay off the sap, you’re going to make me puke again_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	5. Just tell me when you’ve had enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ouch, that’s going to bruise like a motherfucker.  
> I’ll live.  
> The man’s an absolute animal in the bedroom.  
> I know, it’s amazing.  
> You haven’t tried sitting yet.  
> My back honestly hurts more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

“Tell me again what sort of formality I should be looking for?”

You were meandering through a mall, trying on dresses that you thought might work and snapping photos for reference to narrow down your purchase. Spark was on break from what sounded like a nonstop day of opponents.

_“Just a nice dress. Anything’s fine.”_  
“Ok, when was the last time you went shopping for a dress? I need better specs than that. Girl clothes are complicated.”  
_“Um… Nothing too revealing? Or too tight?”_  
“What are you wearing? I want to match you.”  
_“A nice suit.”_  
“What color?”  
_“Black.”_  
“You’re making this harder than it really needs to be.”

He laughs.

_“Sorry, I don’t know much about fashion. I know what looks good. I don’t know how to describe it. All the fancy names for cuts and fabrics are just beyond me.”_

You sigh.

“It’s ok, I’ll… figure something out.”  
_“Got a question for you, though.”_  
“Mm?”  
_“Well, more like I was wondering… Do you want to make it official and introduce each other as the girlfriend or boyfriend?”_  
“Ah. You read my mind.”  
_“You were thinking it, too, huh?”_  
“Well, honestly, I like what we have right now. But it feels too new and delicate.”  
_“So you don’t want to?”_  
“Do you? It felt really good to hear you say it when you were telling off Fen.”  
_“I’m happy to announce my claim, but I’ll keep quiet if you want.”_

You snicker at that.

“I dunno, it just feels too soon. I want to keep it to ourselves a little longer. It feels like a secret nobody else knows.”  
_“Oh, I see how it is. I’m just your dirty little secret.”_  
“Dirty? Hardly.”  
_“But a secret, nonetheless.”_  
“Hey, I’m yours, too.”  
_“Say it again.”_

There’s a lower tone to his voice, and you’re sure he’s smiling, but there’s something else going on here that gives you butterflies. You feel your cheeks warm despite the temperate indoors and feel a shy smile begin. You glance around and decide the deserted corner racks are fascinating.

“I’m yours.”  
_“Now say it like you would in bed.”_

You bite your lip and pray nobody wanders too close to you. It’s surprisingly not that hard to recall the feel of Spark’s body against yours, or the way his breath catches when your hands touch his stomach. You lower your voice and can’t help grinning a little.

“Spark, I’m in public.”  
_“I’ll bring home dinner.”_  
“Are you trying to bribe me into phone sex with food?”  
_“Is it working?”_

You give a quiet, slightly nervous laugh. Your hands linger over the jeans you’re slowly flipping through, comparing the texture to his jeans and the way they feel when you grab his ass. You swallow and touch your lips, pretending for a moment your fingers are his lips. Remembering what his hands feel like as they touch your body sends a shiver through your skin and you’re thankful for the padding in your bra, because you’re not just having goosebumps. Your breath comes a little faster. Your voice feels horny and fragile.

“I’m yours, Spark.”

He sounds quiet, but his words are a firm declaration.

_“Yes, you are.”_

You’d be lying if you said this wasn’t a turn-on.  
How soon can I get to the gym and climb him?  
You’re downtown, so… Not for half an hour.  
Fuck dress shopping.  
Simmer down, he’s gaming you.  
WELL, IT’S WORKING.  
So game him back and get something fierce to wear _under_ the dress.

“When do you finish?”  
_“Six, same as always.”_ His voice changes and this time you know he’s grinning. _“Why, is there something you need, baby?”_

You clear your throat and try to make up your mind if you want to strangle him or fuck him.

“Kantonese. Extra gyouza.”  
_“Of course.”_  
“In other news… What’s with the pet name?”  
_“Huh?”_  
“You started calling me baby a couple weeks ago.”  
_“I did? You don’t like it?”_  
“No, I think it’s cute. Are you even aware you’re doing it?”  
_“Kinda? I dunno, it just seems like… a thing to do?”_  
“Yeah, you messaged me; don’t hate me, baby.”

He laughs and sounds a little nervous or else awkward. Nice to know the tables have turned.

_“Well, like, you’re my girl, my baby, my sweet thing.”_  
“Aha. You were trying to suck up.”  
_“Can you blame me?”_  
“Are you still trying?”  
_“I’m always trying.”_  
“I like that you’re trying.”  
_“Yeah? Anything I should try tonight?”_  
“You could-”

Your phone beeps and cuts you off. You glance at the screen and find your battery at 5%.

“Aw, hell. My battery’s about to die.”

Spark groans with exaggerated disappointment. You find yourself somewhat let down, too, but also relieved. You giggle at his tone.

_“Ok. I guess this is goodbye.”_  
“See you at home.”  
_“Bye.”_

 

Spark’s gym’s party is the Monday before yours, so that weekend you go get your nails done and have your dress steamed. The gym is lit up in a cascade of colors that gradually change, as well as twinkling white lights around the front doorway. You don’t recognize anyone, but they’re polite and friendly when Spark introduces you by name alone. The reaction is fairly universal to the point of being funny: following your name, they pause, expecting to hear more, and glance between you and Spark before giving up and drawing their own conclusions.

Spark looks delicious in his black-on-black suit, broken only by a gold tie and matching pocket square. You’d finally settled on a little black dress that ended just above your knees and showed an appropriate amount of décolleté without being vulgar. Spark’s appraisal had been brief, but you caught him staring you up and down more often than you could count. You smiled back every time. His words said nice, but his eyes said something altogether less suitable for polite conversation.

There were speeches given and achievements recognized. There was a moment of silence for someone’s pokemon that had battled its last. Lastly, they called Spark up onto the stage to have a seat in the spotlight and let everyone take turns coming up to tear him down. It wasn’t mean-spirited, and he played his part good naturedly, but a roast was a roast. When they called an end to it and announced dinner, you met Spark at the steps and took his hand.

“I can’t believe they roasted you! Are you ok? Did you know this was going to happen?”

He’s pink, either from embarrassment, or being under the glare of the lights. He gives you a smile, but it’s not nearly as confident as he would want you to believe.

“Yeah, it’s fine. They do this every year. Y’know, tear down your boss a peg or two; who hasn’t wanted to ever do that?”  
“That can’t have been fun for you. Nobody likes getting ripped into, much less in front of an audience.”  
“Nah, it’s old news. Telling me how bad I sing, or that I spoil Boomer, or that I’m a bossy bitch when we get busy? Nothing I don’t know already.”  
“Well, I don’t like it. You look upset. And you spoil that pikachu exactly as much as he deserves, so I don’t see a problem here.”

That got Spark laughing, and his smile was genuinely amused this time.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. But thank you.” He kisses your forehead and gives your hand a squeeze. “C’mon, better grab our seats before we have to split up.”  
“Is there no assigned seating?”  
“Nope.”  
“Guess I’ll have your lap.”  
“Won’t _that_ mess with the wait staff?”

 

You head home around one AM, which is respectably late by any standard, and practically morning by Spark’s. You’d eaten, danced, participated in a raffle, eaten more, danced more, and been given a brief tour of the place ending behind the closed door of Spark’s office for a quick make-out.

“Wow, you gym people know how to throw a shindig,” you comment, dropping your heels to take off your coat and boots.  
“What’s that saying? All work and no play makes Spark a dull boy.”  
“So, maybe we should go clubbing sometime.”  
“Yeah, I’m down!”  
“Really? Even if you’re up with the pidgey?”  
“Something tells me you don’t dance cute and it would be worth it.”  
“What? I am too a cute dancer.”

You pout your lip at him as you pass to head down the hall. You pull the bobby pins out of your half-up do and ruffle fingers through your curled hair, surprisingly still holding shape. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to get some sleep before your alarm goes off. Lucky Spark can sleep in all day if he wanted to. Sniffing your shoulder, you can smell his cologne rubbed off on you.

Thinking about how to streamline getting ready for bed, you head to your room to grab your pajamas and undress. You pull open the dresser drawer where you keep your jewelry and remove the evenings artefacts before nudging the drawer shut and moving on to your dress. The hook and eye slip free and the zipper slides about two inches and stops. You pull harder. Nothing. Trying to reach around the other way just feels like torturous yoga and is doubly unsuccessful at pulling the zipper down. This dress was brand new, how could the zipper be broken already? You take a breath and count to five to cool your temper.

“Hey, Spark? I need a hand.”

Spark walks in, jacket gone, tie and collar loosened, and in the middle of unbuttoning his cuffs. Damn, he looks so good.

“What’s up?”  
“My zipper’s stuck.”

You pull your hair over your shoulder as he approaches and turn your back to him. He brushes a few stray strands over your shoulder and gives the zipper a tug.

“Yeah, looks like it’s caught the fabric. I better get the scissors.”  
“Spark, you are not cutting my new dress.”  
“Well, I guess you’re stuck forever.”  
“You’re funny.”

He snickers and you roll your eyes. He fiddles with the pull for a moment and manages to pull it back up. You try not to think too hard about the brush of his fingers on your skin. The zipper moves again, slowly, and you feel him reach inside the dress to hold the fabric taut.

“And yeah, you do dance cute. But I bet you don’t at the club.”  
“Oh, no? What do you think I do?”  
“I bet you’re a wild party girl.”

You can hear the grin in his voice and you know he’s teasing.

“I think you’ve got some moves in those hips that would make your mother blush.”  
“Guess you’ll have to find out.”  
“I intend to.”

It feels like he’s made it halfway down the track, but you’re not about to dismiss him yet.

“Tell your gym leader I think he’s delicious in that suit.”  
“I’ll pass that along.”

His lips on the back of your neck make your stomach flip and you’re glad the dresser is right there to hold on to. His fingers part the dress and slip under the band of your bra, and you wonder if he’s going to try for that next.

“He says thanks. Also thinks you were the sexiest girl at the party.”  
“Is that so? Coulda fooled me. All he said was the dress looked nice.”  
“The dress needs to come off.”

His teeth are grazing your ear and wow, is it hot in here or what? You’re not sure what’s going on with that zipper anymore because his hands are wandering, one around your waist, the other down your thigh. He seems sure of what he wants and spares little time hitching up your skirt, revealing the lacy bands of your sheer black thigh-highs and cheeky lace panties. Your heart skips a beat, and a sharp jolt of hesitation floods you.

“Spark, don’t you dare…”  
“No?”  
“You leave me hanging, I’m going to slap you, I swear to god.”

He’s toying with the edge of your panties. He chuckles, as if he’s aware of something you’re not and knows you won’t stop him. You really don’t want to. He nips your ear and your breath catches. His fingers slip between your thighs, gliding gently over fabric.

“Just tell me when you’ve had enough.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Spark reaches up to tilt your head back and kiss you, and you feel an electric heat rush between your legs, building with every stroke. His touch is light and almost ticklish, coaxing your hips to twitch in pursuit of more. He hasn’t touched you since your fight a couple of weeks ago, and you suspect his hesitation is born of his own fear of spooking or hurting you again –aside from the fact that your body may as well be virgin territory. Your hand leaves the dresser to press his fingers down harder; he’s a quick study and the next downward stroke takes your breath away. You brace your hand back on the dresser, quite in need of the support because your legs are starting to feel weak. You break for air, gasping, and feel him nip teeth at your jaw.

“You’re not going to back out, are you?”  
“Not until you want me to. Have you been tested lately?”  
“All clear. You?”  
“Good to go.”

He turns you around and pulls your panties down your hips to the tops of your thigh-highs. You catch his gaze –there’s something hot and hungry and intent there that you’ve never seen before. It gives you shivers on the inside. He pulls the top of the dress off your shoulders and it tumbles off your frame with little more effort. You reach back to swipe your collection of plushies off the top of your dresser and hop up onto it. The little bit of lace is shimmied off down your legs. You congratulate yourself for keeping the pubes tidy, because they’re totally out there now. Your hands reach for his shirt, un-tucking it and fumbling the buttons undone. His tie is whisked off somewhere and his shirt joins a moment later. A small part of you can’t believe this is about to happen and is surprised when he pulls a pair of condoms out of his pocket and tucks them into the bra that matches the panties you just tossed. Your hands are already working on his slacks.

Spark interrupts by hitching your leg around his waist and reaching between your thighs. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he kisses you, and he’s stroking you again, only this time it’s bare skin to skin and you’re a twitchy ball of nerves. Unlike the last time you had the attention of his fingers, he’s patient. He breaks the kiss and pulls his hand away, and your heart stumbles. He’s backing out, after all. Maybe there’s something wrong with your body, is it the lingerie, do you smell weird-?

He puts two of his fingers in his mouth. Your thoughts skid to a halt and your heart picks itself up and dusts itself off, then gets running faster than before. Oh, ok. You know what he’s doing.

You lean up to kiss his throat and collarbones, and his grip on your thigh tugs you forward slightly and you feel his hand against you once more. The slickness makes his touch feel like _more_. Fingers penetrate you and you cry out a little. He hesitates.

“Am I hurting you?”  
“Mm-mn, keep going.”

Spark nuzzles you, kisses your temple, cheek, jaw. Unlike the last time, he’s gentler, working you until you can feel a little puddle under your thighs. One of your hands reaches down to tug at his boxers, wanting them out of the way and him inside you. He pulls his fingers out of you and lets your leg down, then draws back to rid himself of his underwear. Suddenly you’re the overdressed one, perched up on your dresser in thigh-highs and bra.

“Damn,” you murmur, finally getting to look him over.

He grins and teases fingertips up along your thigh. You run a hand over his stomach, tracing the hard lines of muscle downward, playing through dark-golden hair. He’s semi-hard when you wrap your fingers around him, and the slide of extra skin makes you wonder if he’s circumcised. You want to know what he feels like in your mouth, and looking up at him, you’re sure he’s wondering the same thing. His hand strokes over your ass. He leans down and kisses your chest, your breasts, and then he’s upright again, the condoms in his teeth.

By the time the sleeve is fitted, he’s rigid and thick in your palm and your heart is fluttering madly at the thought of him being inside you. He pulls your legs up around his waist and you feel him press against you, lining up your bodies. Your arms go around his shoulders and he meets your eyes. You can’t look away. And then suddenly he’s in and your breath is coming faster, and he shifts and pushes deeper still, and you gasp sharply. For a fraction of a second, worry crosses his face, but is chased away by comprehension when he realizes you’re quite the opposite of being in pain. He kisses you, and it’s hungry and messy and his hips are twitching and you can feel him throbbing inside you.

Your head bumps the wall behind you and your lips part with a smack when he starts to move, and he’s anything but controlled or polite about it. You want it too much to care. Hearing him panting and moaning sends shivers right down between your legs. You wonder how much he’s been holding back -if he’s always this rough, or is it the excitement of finally fucking you that’s made him wild? The dresser bangs against the wall and you can’t help but laugh, breathless and high on lust. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you can feel the strength of his muscles, the shivering bit of control he needs to keep you both up here. You’re not about to come anytime soon –you rarely do like this- but watching him take his pleasure is fulfilling, and when his hips start to jerk erratically, you bite your lip and watch as he comes inside you.

You’re both breathing hard when it’s over and you kiss his temple. He leans his forehead against yours and meets your eyes, his breath shivering against your face. There are no words, but the message is visceral and makes your heart stagger drunkenly inside your chest.

After a few minutes to catch your breath, he slips out of you and helps you down. Miraculously, the dresser is still intact and you’re glad the wall isn’t neighboring anyone. You let him toss the condom and then kneel to lick him clean, able to fit him in your mouth most of the way now that he’s going soft. He’s not circumcised. Spark grins, pulls you back up and kisses you.

“Get on the bed,” he whispers against your lips.

Wondering if he’s somehow set for round two, you obey and he joins you, laying over you to kiss your chest. A hand strokes down your body, down your thigh and catches the band of one of your stockings. You draw your leg up against him to help. His kisses drift lower as he pulls the band down, tugs the nylon off your red-lacquered toes. Your fingers comb his hair as you watch him make his way down your body, one stocking falling off the foot of the bed and his fingers working on the next one. His lips brush the crease of your thigh; his tongue licks a trail following your stocking down your leg.

“You’re blushing,” Spark says from between your legs, and the way he’s looking at you makes you feel like blushing even more. Watching him kiss your ankle while idling fingertips up and down your leg feels like the most intimate thing you’ve done. The second stocking is plucked free and tossed away.

“What are you doing now?”  
“What do you want me to do?”

You can feel your face heat up at the heaps of innuendo in that innocuous statement and he smiles slyly. You’re sure he can see the wheels in your head spinning. He leans forward to kiss your belly and the ticklish caress of his fingers along your thigh makes you squirm. He pushes your other thigh back and though his touch is gentle, there’s strength behind it that says he’s capable of holding you down and making you scream, and that alone gets your heart pounding all over again. Part of you wants him to do just that.

At first he strokes you with his fingertips, gently exploring you. You’re still swollen and sensitive and it doesn’t take much to get you gasping. When he puts his mouth on you and softly kisses your most sensitive parts, you bite your lip and grab a handful of the blanket under you. His tongue teases every fold and crevice and you can hear your gasps getting louder and can’t do anything about it. He kisses you harder, pressing his tongue inside you and you let out a sharper cry, throwing your head back and feeling your body strain under him. His grip on your thigh tightens just a bit, but he lets you ride the sensation.

His fingers return and he gives his mouth and your voice a break. Hot, sloppy kisses smear your own wetness all over your inner thighs. You feel like the poster child for drunk on sex. Spark’s fingers slip inside you, and this time he’s not concerned with working you lose and wet. He’s stroking you, shifting his hand a little every pass to try a different angle and you both know he’s found what he was looking for when your hips jerk sharply. You glance down and catch his gaze; he’s damp and disheveled, and there’s a victorious little smirk on his face that kind of worries you but mostly makes you tremble inside. Those blue eyes tell you you’re in for it, now, no begging required.

It doesn’t take a lot after that to make you come, and he doesn’t let up until you’re clutching the bedding white-knuckled and shuddering. Breathing erratically as you open your eyes, you swallow and try to find your voice, but words escape you.

Spark stills his hand and lets you enjoy your orgasm uninterrupted, but he’s right back at it once he hears your breathing begin to calm. He pushes your thigh back more, angling your hips to his advantage and replaces his fingers with his tongue. His wet fingers tease your clit and you think; _this is how I’m going to die._ You’re an inarticulate mess of sharp, breathy whimpers, heat, and lightning in your veins. You reach a hand down into his hair and he pauses to glance up at you, but a glance is enough to convince him he’s on the right track. He brings you again, and this time doesn’t wait for you to cool down at all. His fingers are back inside you, and he’s tonguing your clit and moaning against you, and you’re screaming all over again.

You’re limp and breathing really hard when he lets you lay out, and you can’t remember the last time you ever had a lover this intent on your pleasure. You almost regret picking a fight with Spark about the whole relationship thing; had you known he was going to be like this, you’d have shut your mouth and waited it out. Then again, you were finally here because you hadn’t stayed quiet. Who’s winning now?

Spark caresses your jaw and you feel his thumb on your lips. You can smell yourself on his hand, taste it on the tip of your tongue. You’re both debauched beyond saving.

“Are we enjoying ourselves?”

You smile. His voice is husky and a little breathless, and you open your eyes, trying to focus beyond the delirious fog of pleasure. You can’t quite figure out how to speak yet, and he looks pleased with himself, more so when he realizes you’ve lost the capacity for language. You reach up to pull the back of his neck, and kiss him drunkenly, the taste and smell of your own body flooding your senses. Spark’s hand leaves your face and reaches under your shoulder, and you figure he’s aiming to get your bra off. You let go of his neck and reach up to undo the clasp between the cups. You moan softly against his mouth as his hand comes back around to brush the halves away, palming your breasts once bared. You put your hand over his as he gropes you, and he breaks the kiss.

“Turn over.”

You comply and toss your bra off in the process. He leaves the bed and comes back with the other condom you’d forgotten on the dresser. You’re pulling your hair over one shoulder when you feel his lips there, and then again between your shoulder blades. Getting up on one elbow, you turn a little and reach for his lap. He’s flaccid but responsive, and soon enough he’s becoming full and hard in your hand. You’d really like to try getting him hard with your mouth some time. Spark runs a hand down your body and gropes a handful of ass-cheek. You’re so sensitive that it makes you twitch and gasp, and he keeps teasing you as he kisses down your spine. He rips the condom packet with his teeth and you both work at getting him covered.

“Get on your knees.”

You begin to do just that, but one of his hands pushes your shoulders back down while the other steadies your hips. Through the lust comes a little tremor of fear, but it’s tiny and weak and easily overpowered by your feelings of lust and affection. He lets go to move around behind you, and you’ve got the picture.

There’s little preamble, just the brush of his skin, and then with a firm nudge he’s inside you. He grabs your hips and pulls out a little, and then he’s thrusting deeper, and you’re sure this would hurt if you weren’t so aroused. Spark finds his rhythm, and it’s hard and deep. You grab handfuls of the bedding to keep steady, and you’re moaning because somehow this feels _so good_. That tiny fear in you lets loose one last pitiful whimper before extinguishing.

A hand lets go of your hip and slides between your legs, and your hips buck when Spark finds your clit and rubs it vigorously. You feel him stutter and slow a little as you come hard, and he feels so big inside you as your body clenches and spasms. He kisses your neck, and you can feel his teeth biting, but nothing seems to hurt and he lets go as you come back down. And then he’s moving again, and you can hear him moaning.

He leans over you, a hand braced on the bed by your shoulder, and now he’s got the downward momentum and the full strength of his back to fuck you into the bed. Every other gasp you take returns a little scream. He’s so powerful you’d be surprised if you weren’t aching later. He jerks, his beat failing, and you hear him grunt as he gives a few last, rough thrusts and stills for a moment. He’s breathing hard above you, and you can feel his hips twitching. You realize you’re trembling from the rush and it’s over, and wow.

“That’s… enough.”

Your voice sounds coarse and weak and you’re panting. You have to consciously think about letting go of the bedding because none of your body seems capable of working right. He leans down to kiss your cheek.

“Had enough?”

God dammit, he sounds so smug. And breathless. You hope you’ve given him as much of a workout as he did you.

“Enough for now,” you amend your statement.

He kisses you again and gets up to pull out. You collapse, over-sensitized and tired. You need a drink and you know you should hit the bathroom for a number of reasons, the least being your makeup, but you can’t move yet. Spark returns to you and leans over to see your face. He brushes a bit of hair away from your face.

“Baby? You ok?”  
“Tired. Need a few minutes.”

He grins and looks smug as hell. You figure he’s earned the right and say nothing. You smile back weakly.

“I’m grabbing a shower.”  
“Enjoy.”  
“Don’t fall asleep.”  
“I won’t.”

Not lying in a damp puddle you won’t. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that you’re calling in sick tomorrow, and that your entire bedding set will need washing. Spark leaves and you hear the water start. Damn, that was so worth the wait, you think.

Aren’t you glad you got the ball rolling?  
Somebody had to.  
D’you think he checked that nothing ripped?  
Yeah, that last go was rough, man. I hope he did?  
Don’t forget your pill.  
Aye aye.  
Better hope your insurance covers morning after in case you need it.  
Yeah, I would be pregnant the way we were fucking, huh? That was grade-A baby-making right there.  
Ok, but his dick, though.  
RIGHT?  
It’s nice. Like, really nice.  
So nice.  
And he ate you out like a free buffet, schwing!  
That was surprising, I gotta say.  
You loved it.  
Goddamn right I did. You’d think he was starving.  
Starved for your puss~  
Happy to oblige and feed the needy.  
Yeah, girl! Boy is talented.  
Boy’s a keeper for sure.  
You’re not just here to ride him like Seabiscuit?  
Yeah, but nah. I dig the rest, too.  
You gonna tell him that? I get the feeling he’d love to hear it.  
Later. Guys get weird when you say the thing.  
He’s not most guys.  
Yeah but… I’d like to keep this to myself for a bit.  
You don’t want to tell him he won, do you?  
Shut up.  
Oh, girl, you’re fucked!  
Yes, I am. Quite well.

Wobbly and groaning as your legs move and make everything inside you twinge with an insatiable need for _more_ that you know you can’t hope to satisfy right now, you get up to locate your pajamas -they were now on the floor under your crumpled dress- and add fresh panties to the change of clothes. You put them on the corner of your bed and grab the first thing that isn’t wet: Spark’s boxers. Good enough. They hang just off your hips, but at least you won’t accidentally drip on anything. You grab your birth-control pills out of your nightstand and head to the kitchen for a glass of milk and spot the time on the stove: 3:20AM. Definitely calling in tomorrow. You swallow your pill and think about asking Spark about that last condom.

The bathroom door opens and you snicker as Boomer scampers down the hall to scold Spark. Guess you’ll have to timeshare your man with the spoiled little rat. Spark calls for you.

“Kitchen.”

He appears in the doorway.

“Wow, we kind of trashed your room. Are those mine?”  
“Yup.”

He’s staring at you with an odd, soft expression you’re too tired and edgy to think about. You pause sipping and feel your face color a bit. You almost want to shield your naked chest under your arms.

“What?”  
“Nothing. You look really pretty right now.”  
“Don’t lie. I know I look wrecked.”

He grins and you know he’s trying to sweet-talk you. He’s so bad at hiding it. You don’t dislike it, though.

“Anyway, I wanted to say come to my bed when you’re done. Yours is wet.”  
“Wasn’t planning not to. Um, by the way…?”  
“Hm?”  
“Did either of the condoms break?”  
“No. Are you worried?”  
“Not if they’re not broken.”  
“No, they both held up.”  
“Ok.”  
“Ok, well… bathroom’s all yours.”  
“Tell Boomer to get used to sharing you. I don’t want to get zapped.”

Spark laughs.

“He wouldn’t, he likes you.”  
“Why does he sound jealous?”  
“He thinks I’m monopolizing you.”

You laugh and he grins and shakes his head, turning to go to his room. You finish your milk and head to the bathroom to pee and wash up. Even the most careful touch instigates a bizarre sensation of pleasure and soreness, and you wonder what the hell Spark did to you to make you this ridiculously aroused. As you dry off, you wonder if he slipped something in your drink, or put something on you, but nothing adds up.

Can someone actually be that bomb-ass in bed?  
Dunno, you’re the one orgasming until it practically hurts.  
Like, am I drugged? This has never happened. I didn’t think this _could_ happen. Like the media invented it to be special.  
Well you did come three times in his mouth, so I don’t know what you’re bitching for.  
And that’s another thing…  
Girl. Do not complain.  
I’m not, just-  
No. He’s good. You lost the game. Just deal with it.  
Seriously, I lost count.  
Seriously, if you were still _able_ to count…  
Fair enough. He’s good. Real fuckin good.  
Real fuckin good indeed. Now go to bed before you collapse.

You grab your holocaster and type out a quick email to your boss saying you got a really bad fever, staying home, call me if anything. You don’t even want to look around your room. You disable your alarms and hit the lights on your way out. Spark is doing sit-ups on the floor –where does he get the energy?!- and you sidestep him to get into bed. Boomer’s already under the blanket and sleepily looks around when you uncover him. You get in and pull him close.

“Better?”  
“Pi?”  
“Daddy says you’re jealous. So I’m going to make time for you, too.”

You look up when you hear Spark laughing and he slumps flat on the floor, looking up at you. Boomer nonchalantly licks a paw.

“You brat.”  
“You raised him. You have only yourself to blame.”  
“Pikachu.”  
“Shush.”

Spark gets up to hit the lights, then joins you in bed. He pulls you closer and lays an arm across your waist and you turn onto your side, letting him cradle you. Near the foot of the bed, you hear a thump and a little scuffle as Dash turns around in a circle and then flumps down between your legs and Spark’s with a sigh. Another, smaller scuffle announces Bojangles joining the dogpile. Boomer stretches out and yawns before going quiet. Spark kisses behind your ear and whispers goodnight. You hum back, already drifting off.

Yes, you think. It was.

 

You wake up to the smell of grease and burning chocolate and find the bed empty and the room mutedly bright, what with the window half covered. You wonder what time it is. More importantly, you wonder what Spark is trying to cook.

You stand in the kitchen doorway sleepily watching Spark dance around in-between flipping what has to be chocolate-chip pancakes in one pan and bacon in the other. Boomer’s on the counter with a little bowl of berries to himself. His ears twitch and he looks around and squeaks happily when he spots you. Spark startles, puts down his spatula to take out his earbuds. His holocaster is in his waistband.

“G’morning. Did I wake you?”  
“Morning. I think the smell of food woke me up. Chocolate pancakes?”  
“Yup.”  
“I thought you didn’t cook?”  
“I kinda can, I just don’t do it often.”  
“Aha.”  
“I made coffee, too.”  
“Amazing. I’ll be right back.”

You brush your teeth and wash your face, and as you’re spreading on your moisturizer, you notice the hickey on your neck. It’s like the mother of hickeys, like Spark tried to take a bite out of you and stopped himself. You can actually make out some of his teeth. Impressive.

Ouch, that’s going to bruise like a motherfucker.  
I’ll live.  
The man’s an absolute animal in the bedroom.  
I know, it’s amazing.  
You haven’t tried sitting yet.  
My back honestly hurts more.

Just to see, you hop up onto the counter and gingerly set yourself down. No big deal, nothing different from a rough bike ride. You continue with your moisturizer. Bojangles joins you on the counter and you kiss his head and bid him good morning. You turn on the faucet a bit for him and grab your hair brush to start on your mop.

Breakfast is on the table when you return to the kitchen and Spark’s already set your coffee out. You detour for the cream in the fridge and tuck your hair behind your ears, turning towards the table. Your stride slows when you see Spark staring.

“What?”  
“C’mere.”

He stands and meets you halfway, and before you can ask what he’s so freaked out at, he runs a hand through your hair and pulls it away from your neck. His eyes widen. He whistles.

“Yeah, you did that.”  
“Did I ever. Does it hurt?”  
“Nah.”

He leans in to kiss it softly, but you note he’s not apologizing or looking the least bit apologetic about it. You giggle and smack him with the carton.

“You’re not even sorry, are you?”  
“Should I be?”

You’re not quite sure how to answer that. You smirk and shake your head. He sits at the table and you prepare your coffee.

“So… You always that crazy?”

You hear him splutter and realize he was sipping his coffee when you asked. You’re laughing all over again and grab an extra napkin to hand him. It takes a few minutes before you get a reply.

“Crazy?”  
“In the bedroom? Trying to take a chunk out of my neck? Breaking my back? Making me scream bloody murder? Can’t see how the neighbors haven’t called the cops yet.”  
“Oh, right.” He clears his throat and takes a bite of his pancakes. “Well, you’re delicious and I heard no complaints. Were there any complaints?”

Now it’s your turn to choke. Your face ignites in record time.

“I… Uh, no? Well-”

He’s smiling behind his cup and you feel like an inarticulate teenager trying to talk to your crush all over again. You start buttering your pancakes to buy time.

“Y-yeah, I guess I’m asking about that. Are you always like… that much?”  
“Hmm, yeah, that’s pretty normal for me.”  
“Wow.”

Your eyes feel about as big as your plate. Spark laughs.

“Ok, maybe I was a _little_ more enthusiastic because it was our first time.”  
“Oh.”  
“What’s up? Worried about something?”  
“N-no, not worried. Bit surprised, I guess? You’re very… thorough. And a bit violent? I don’t dislike it, though.”  
“Oh, yeah.”  
“You didn’t like, take something?”  
“No. I just have a lot of energy. Apparently in battles I’m that much, too.”  
“No kidding? Whatever gets your blood pumping, I guess.”  
“Does it bother you? I mean, I thought you might be ok with it since you were so eager, but I could tone it down, go slower.”  
“I dunno, maybe once in a while? No, what am I saying? That was fun.”  
“Yeah?”  
“I admit I was a bit nervous the second time. I don’t usually do that position, and you were really rough. Like it definitely would have hurt.”  
“Would have, but didn’t?”  
“Didn’t.”  
“No, but why ‘would have’?”  
“Might be because you ate me out so good,” you mumble into your coffee cup.

He’s giving you that look again, that smug, self-satisfied kind of grin, and clearly waiting for you to explain. You wonder if he gets off on this.

“Would have, because… Like, more arousal equals more space or something. So, if I wasn’t, I would have been too tight and it would have hurt. Honestly, I-I don’t know how to explain it. I’ll find you the Wikipedia article or something.”  
“So, as long as you’re really wet and horny, it’s all good?”  
“I… yeah? Pretty much.”

You think about telling him just how horny he made you, but decide to keep it to yourself. Maybe it was a one-time thing because you’d been anticipating it for so long. No need to pile on the pressure.

“How come you don’t like that position?”  
“I don’t _not_ like it. But it’s kind of scary. I can’t see anything that’s happening, I don’t have any control. I mean… If you do it right, it feels really good, but the trade-off is vulnerability.”

Your voice trails off quietly and you stare at your breakfast. Bringing up past relationships doesn’t feel right at the moment, because it would only seem like comparing Spark to the rest. But you know he’s going to latch on to that detail and you can’t help it. If he’s going to be doing you on the regular from here on, he needs to know this much.

“Someone messed with you, didn’t they? Your whole vibe is telling me something not ok happened.”  
“They just thought it’d be funny to get behind me and ditch the condom. Nothing bad came of it.”  
“What the fuck?”  
“Mm.”  
“I would never –babe, look at me. We do this your way until you want to change, ok?”  
“I’ve been on the pill for a long time-”  
“Doesn’t matter.”

You smile at him, and it feels kind of scared and sad and reassured.

“Thanks.”

You know the hostility isn’t directed at you, even if he’s staring at you. You’d be wrong to say it wasn’t a bit of a turn-on. You look away first and you both concentrate on your food. After a few minutes, Spark abruptly speaks.

“But you let me go through with it, even though I could have hurt you.”  
“Well, I was like, a tiny bit scared. But it’s fine, nothing hurt. I would have said something.”  
“Ok, that’s good to know.”  
“Also, you’re kind of bossy, but it’s sexy. You know what you want.”  
“Guilty.”  
“And I know you were checking on me. You didn’t have to, but you did. It was nice.”  
“I’m not used to your tells, yet. Do you think you’d try it again?”  
“Yeah, I could give it another go. For you.”  
“For me. I’m blessed. Thank you, Arceus, for such an accommodating woman.”

That gets you laughing.

“Oh, stop it! It’s not such a big deal. What do you mean by tells?”  
“Your body language. Your sounds.”  
“Oh.”  
“I like it rough-”  
“-I noticed.”  
“And I think you do, too, with the right foreplay. But I don’t know your body yet. You’ll tell me if something’s not working, right?”  
“Yeah, of course.” You bite your lip and smile. “I’m really glad you said that.”  
“What? Foreplay?”

His smile is playful and he looks like he knows exactly what you mean.

“Actually… You managed that really well.”  
“Did I? Why did you look so shocked?”  
“When?”  
“When I licked my fingers. Are you not into that?”  
“No, I actually thought you were backing off again.” You give a bashful laugh at that. “Your hands are good. Why so curious?”  
“I want to know what you like.”

Talking about this is starting to make you horny, but you’re just going to focus on your food for now. You’re having visions of destroying the kitchen table right here and now, and you’re not looking forward to picking bacon out of your hair later. Boomer is leaning on the windowsill watching the traffic outside. The kitchen is peaceful and content.

Something touches your foot and you jump. Spark grins behind his hand as he gnaws on a fingernail.

“Was that you?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Stop.” Who are you fooling, you’re grinning right back. “Let me eat your beautiful pancakes. Look how good they turned out.”  
“Uh-huh.”

You wonder if he’s having the same thoughts you are.

“So, I guess you called in today.”  
“Mm-hm.”  
“Will you be in trouble?”  
“I’m allowed sick days.”  
“Oh, so you’re _sick_ today. I see.”  
“Yup.”  
“What you gonna do with your sick day?”  
“Clean up my room, wash my bed stuff.”

Figure out if you have condoms, or if you should run out to buy more. Should ask him what kind he prefers.

“Wanna find out what spin cycle does for you?”  
“Spark!”  
“Just putting that out there.”  
“‘m kinda sore right now, though.”  
“Oh, I’m sorry. Want me to kiss it better?”

Your face goes up in flames in record time.

“Oh my god, Spark, stop!”

He bursts into laughter and you hide behind your hands, grinning and red-faced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	6. I’m really glad I let you move in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Advisory: Non-cartoon violence and bad guys who want to do bad things. 
> 
> Mild Game of Thrones spoilers regarding Daenerys in Mereen (circa seasons 5 and 6).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think there are [people in the poke-verse](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/post/152046521672/the-poke-verse-as-i-think-of-it) that are the pokemon battle equivalent of raging sports fanatics? Like, they know every top trainer's team stats, how many wins and badges, and all that other stuff.
> 
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

Your company’s pub party is that Friday, which means Spark’s working a bit later than usual. You stop by the gym to wait for him. You only have to be at the pub around seven, and with no reservations, you can afford to be a tad late. The receptionist recognizes you and strikes up a little small-talk.

“Hey, Spark said you might visit. I remember you coming by to see Dusty’s clutch.”  
“Yup, that was me.”  
“My wife was chatting with you at the party, but I don’t think we were introduced. I’m Tanny.”  
“Tanny, right. I remember your name, but there were so many people…”

Tanny hits a button on her phone pad that starts a pre-recorded message over the gym PA reminding people that they’re closing soon.

“No worries. Spark should be on his last match of the day. Want to come watch?”  
“Is that allowed?”  
“Yeah, of course. Lots of people come around just to observe.”

She detours to lock the front door and then leads the way across the lobby to a pair of swinging doors that open to a hallway. As you follow, she smiles at you.

“So, how did you and Spark meet?”  
“Ah… We live in the same neighborhood and kind of just ran into each other.”  
“That’s so cute!”

She pushes open the door at the end of the hall and you both walk out onto a platform overlooking the gym’s battlefield. The platform ran about a third of the length of the room and had thick glass sides that reached your chest. Seeing gyms and pokemon battles on tv didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. The observation deck was about twenty feet up, and the ceiling soared another hundred feet or so overhead. The field below was a mixture of rock and sand and scattered islands of greenery. A few trees and bushes outlined the edges, and in one corner, there was a pool of water burbling with a low fountain. The walls were concrete, and padding ran the perimeter of the room -from floor to just under the deck.

You place a hand on the railing edging the top of the glass and cautiously peer down, gulping at the feeling of vertigo. There’s a teenager on the challenger’s end recalling a fainted pokemon and weighing his next option.

“Do you like battles?”  
“Can’t say I really ever got into ‘em. Is he here to get a badge?”  
“Nah, kiddo’s just here for practice, so this is a sparring match. Both trainers can use whatever pokemon they want, and the challenger can request a max level handicap.”  
“A what?”  
“Look, see that fearow? She’s Spark’s. She’s got a collar to limit her hit points and attack strength to a range suitable for a fearow up to level 40.”  
“Oh, is that because she’s normally a higher level than that challenger?”  
“Exactly!”

The challenger sends out a tangela. You lean on the railing to look out towards Spark’s end of the arena, wondering what he’ll do. Boomer’s perched on his shoulder, observing the match. His ears twitch and an instant later he looks around and spots you.

“Pikaa!!”

Spark’s gaze flicks up at you and he’s surprised to see you. You smile and wave, and he and Boomer wave back.

“Ohhh, I’ve done it now,” Tanny sings.  
“Huh?”  
“Nothing!”

The next round commences, the challenger issuing a stun spore at Spark’s fearow. The bird dodges easily and retaliates with an aerial ace move. Spark jogs along, staying outside the markings that defined the active part of the field. The vine-ball on legs looks like it might not stand long. The challenger dashes for another viewpoint and tries a vine whip, aiming to grab the buzzard out of the air and level the playing field. It strikes a wing and she falls, but gets back up on her talons. Spark comes to a halt at his own vantage point of view; he yells a command and the fearow raises her wings and attacks ferociously, scratching and pecking at her opponent.

“Oh, yes! Good call!”  
“What’s happening?”  
“Fury attack. I think he’s going to finish it up- Oh, nope. Tangela down.”  
“Spark won?”  
“This round, yep. That challenger’s got, uh… One more to go. Usually it’s best of six matches, and whoever’s pokemon outnumber the other guy’s, wins.”  
“I see.”

Spark glances up at you again. The amusement is there, but it’s focused and intense. It’s all too close to the look he gave you as he stripped you Monday night, and it makes your insides shiver with anticipation. _“Whatever gets your blood pumping,”_ your own words echo back at you. That challenger is about to get royally fucked.

The challenger’s final pokemon is a golduck. It waves its webbed forepaws and Spark’s fearow appears to be grabbed tight in an invisible hand and then sent hurling at the wall. She slams into the padding and collapses. Spark recalls her. A vicious grin lights up his face.

“Boomer, thunder wave!”

“Better block your ears!”

You hasten to follow Tanny’s example as Boomer runs down Spark’s outstretched arm and leaps into the field. Neither golduck nor challenger have time to react. Boomer’s cheeks flash and what looks like a ripple of electricity arcs out in front of him in a rapidly expanding radius aimed at the golduck. Accompanying the electricity is a deafening clap of thunder that makes you cringe. You watch the electricity slam its target and in mere heartbeats, the match is over. The golduck staggers, then collapses. A residual, smaller rumble of thunder echoes near the ceiling and Boomer lands on all fours, ears and tail erect with excitement. A bell clangs and a voice overhead declares the match over and Spark the winner.

“Pretty amazing, huh?”

You nod, your body shaking from that thunder. Who knew such a tiny, cute creature could make the very gym walls tremble?

“So, that’s why he called him Boomer…”  
“Yeah, loudest thunder on record. You ok?”  
“Still feeling that thunder wave.”  
“I know what you mean; the air gets that ozone-y smell and you feel sort of prickly, right?”  
“Kinda.”  
“Heh, you’ll be alright in a few. I have to go wrap up some stuff. Just come back through here when you’re ready.”  
“Ok, seeya.”

She was right, you did feel prickly. Boomer was indulging in a good scratch as Spark met the challenger in the middle of the arena and shook his hand. You couldn’t hear them clearly, but their exchange looked amicable. The fainted golduck was recalled into its pokeball and Spark called Boomer.

“Chuu, pi pikaa.”  
“Ok, you can wait with her when we’re done. But come over here and show some humility.”

Boomer returns to Spark at a sprint, jumps onto his shirt and scales the rest of the way back onto his shoulder in a flash. Spark undoes the collar around his neck and Boomer gives himself a full-bodied shake. The challenger offers his hand, palm out and Boomer slaps it with a congratulatory squeak.

“Thanks, Boomer,” The boy grins and shoulders his bag. “Thanks, Spark. Seeya.”  
“Pikachu!”  
“Seeya. Get home safe.”  
“I will.”

The boy trots for the door on the challenger’s side and glances up at you before disappearing through the doorway. The door slams shut. Spark reaches up to ruffle yellow fur and kiss a red cheek; Boomer squeaks happily.

“That’s my boy.”

Spark gives you his full attention now.

“I didn’t think you’d come in and watch,” he calls across the field.  
“Tanny showed me in.”  
“What time is it?”  
“Quarter to. Don’t rush, there’s no reservation.”  
“Ok, I’ll be out soon. Boomer, wanna go keep mommy company?”  
“Pi~!”

Spark crosses the field at a sprint and pauses a few paces away from the observation deck. He scoops up Boomer into one hand and Boomer crouches down all compact. As Spark winds his arm back, you realize he means to throw his pikachu at you and promptly panic.

“Catch!”  
“Spark, no, don’t throw him!”  
“Just hold your arms out!”

Terrified of missing, you hold your arms out and watch Spark throw his pikachu up at you. Those little paws are reaching for you and you’re about to have a heart attack thinking, _oh god, what if he falls, what if I drop him, what if I catch him weird and he breaks a leg-_

And then the little body is within reach and you scoop him in close and hold him tight, shaking and aware that at least you caught him. A muffled squeak against your coat makes you react and you cradle Boomer in your arm, anxiously checking each paw, ear, and tail joint. He’s squeaking incessantly and you realize he’s laughing, or making the best approximation a mouse can. Either way, he seems happy. You look over the railing again, giving Spark a vicious glare.

“Have you completely lost it?!”  
“What? You did great!”  
“How dare you throw your son at me?! He could have been hurt!”  
“Nah. Falling from that height wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, it’s good agility practice.”

You don’t know how to answer, and instead make a sound of resigned disgust and turn around to leave. As the door slams behind you, you look down at Boomer and pout.

“You poor little thing, getting thrown like a football.”  
“Chaa~”

You’re not sure what that means, but you continue to coddle him out in the lobby, glancing up as a pair of trainers call farewell to Tanny and head out. You find a bench and take a seat, content with the warm bundle against your belly. Tanny’s tidying up her desk and has drawn the shades over the front windows. She glances up at you and Boomer and snickers.

“Better be careful; that one’s a real lady-killer.”  
“That’s fine. He just had a life-threatening experience.”  
“Sure looks ok from over here.”

You explain about Spark throwing him and your abject panic, and Tanny’s oddly in stitches.

“But he’s a pikachu. Their habitat in the wild is forest, and they’re always climbing trees and stuff. Falling is natural to them. Their moms drop them on purpose to make them get used to it.”  
“He didn’t have to throw him at me.”  
“I bet Boomer thought it was fun. Right buddy?”  
“Pikachu!”  
“See?”  
“Does daddy throw you around a lot?”  
“Pi.”  
“Is that a yes?”  
“Pi.”

You sigh and kiss his head. He giggles.

“Going out tonight?”  
“Yeah, pubbing with some workmates. You have any plans?”  
“Pizza and icecream with the girl. We decided we’re going to be fat, lazy slobs this weekend.”  
“Sounds like my kinda weekend.”  
“Chuu.”  
“Hey, do you battle? You sound like you know a lot about pokemon.”  
“Aw, nah. I’d like to maybe get a charmander one day, but our place doesn’t allow pets. I just know what I know from working here.”  
“Won’t it burn your place down?”  
“Nope. Fire-types with a body flame don’t burn stuff unintentionally. In fact, most pokemon don’t want to hurt people if they can help it.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. It’s an expense of energy they’d rather not use.”  
“Makes sense. Especially for the tame ones. They rely on people a lot to survive.”

Tanny points at you and clucks her tongue with a grin. Bingo, right answer. Her scarf is already on, and she picks up her coat, then hits a button on her phone.

“Spark? Your girlfriend’s in the front. I’m taking off. Don’t keep her waiting long.”

Her smile turns into a laugh and she hangs up.

“He said he’s on his way.”  
“What’s so funny?”  
“He asked if you were my type.”

You snort.

“I’m sure your wife would have something to say about that.”

Tanny bids you farewell with a chuckle. Boomer’s rubbing his head against your hand and cooing contently in your lap. You watch his ears prick up and a few seconds later hear footsteps approaching. Spark’s still faintly pink from his shower and he’s put on a fresh sweater and jeans. Bulky snow boots aside, he looks like he could be the poster child for a university campaign.

“Should you be going outside with wet hair?”  
“I toweled it, it’s good enough. Aw, look, he loves you.”  
“I still can’t believe you threw him like a damned football. What if you missed?”  
“I never miss. We’ve been practicing this move for weeks, actually.”  
“You practically gave me a heart attack.”  
“I’m glad that you care.”

He offers you a hand up and you shuffle Boomer to your shoulder.

“You gonna carry him the whole way?”  
“No, you’re right, it’s cold out. Alright, Boomer, time to go in your pokeball…”

The pikachu licks your cheek and you know you’re done for. Here comes the squealing.

“Aww, kisses for me?? You’re just the cutest-”  
“Ok, I think we’re late enough.”  
“Such a good boy! Yes, you are! Such a nice, sweet little cutie-pie~”  
“Oh my god, Boomer, you did this on purpose.”  
“Pika.”  
“C’mon, buddy. You know it’s time.”

The small, warm weight is released from your arms as Spark recalls him into his pokeball. He’s trying really hard to keep a straight face. You have no such qualms and give him a smirk.

“So, how was your day?”  
“Fine. Your son just kissed me. What do you have to say about that?”  
“Takes after his old man?”

You both snicker and give way to proper laughter.

“Ok, ok, you’re right, we should go. How do we leave?”  
“This way.”

Spark leads you down a couple of side hallways and pauses at a door to scan his thumb. The door unlocks and you’re let out into the chill of the evening with a slam of heavy steel bolting again behind you. You wait for him to put on his jacket and decide to help him with his scarf in the meantime.

“That battle looked pretty rough. Are you always so hard on those kids?”  
“Yeah. Only way they’ll learn.”

He pulls you against him and kisses you.

“Hi.”  
“Hi.”  
“I’m really glad you’re mad about Boomer. But don’t be mad, ok?”  
“It’s ok, Tanny explained it to me. I guess it’s natural for them.”  
“Yeah? She say anything else?”  
“No, why? Wait, why’d you ask her if I was her type?”

Oh no, he’s grinning and it looks like trouble.

“Spark?”  
“Nothing, just a little teasing.”  
“Why?”  
“Let’s start walking.”

He grabs your hand and threads your fingers together, then shoves them both in his jacket pocket to keep warm.

“Oh, come on, why?”

He just shakes his head and whistles a little ditty.

“Are you threatened by her? You know she’s married, right?”  
“I know.”  
“So, what the hell?”  
“Let’s just say, we have very similar taste in women.”  
“Wait, what?”

You’re quiet for a moment, puzzling that one over, and then your eyes widen with realization.

“Did Tanny steal your girlfriend?”  
“Stealing is such a strong word.”  
“But she… So then… Oh. OH.”  
“Are you trying to turn me on?”

You slap his arm. He snickers.

“So you asked her if she’d be interested in me because… why?”  
“Just curious.”  
“Did you get the answer you wanted?”  
“Enough of one.”

The whole conversation is just too mind-blowing for you and you’re not sure you want to continue it in public. You reach the pub just as the chill begins to seep into your joints, and lively introductions are made around the collection of tables your workmates arranged. Spark’s reputation precedes him and a few of the closet pokemaniacs recognize him before he opens his mouth. Apparently, he was the bane of the neighborhood trainers trying to get an Instinct badge, because just beating him once in an electric match was hard enough.

“What do you mean, beat him once? Don’t trainers get a badge for beating Spark in a formal battle?”

Your designer’s boyfriend –you remember from lunchtime chats- used to be a trainer before he went back to school. Pokemon are still his favorite hobby, and he’s quite happy to fanboy about it.

“Oh, you get credited for that. Getting an element badge isn’t the really hard part. It’s getting three to qualify for the Instinct badge.”  
“There’s a badge for that, too?”  
“Yeah, and getting one is hard as fuck, pardon my Kalosian.”  
“That’s what she said,” your boss snickers, and Spark laughs.  
“That is what I said.”

Your designer high-fives your boss behind her boyfriend’s back.

Someone exclaims over the multiple conversations happening that one of the staff has arrived to take your orders, and a lot of shouts for beer, pub food, and wine later, you note Spark joking with your colleagues. You’re glad they all get along. When the orders start to arrive, you lean closer to Spark.

“You didn’t order anything?”  
“I had a late lunch.”  
“Want half of mine? Their plates look huge.”  
“Sure, just leave what you can’t eat.”

The evening carries on with a few more rounds of drinks and karaoke, and progressively dirtier jokes. You and Spark excuse yourselves and head home around half-past ten, which, after all the farewells, makes it nearly eleven before you’re out the door. You let Spark take your hand into his jacket pocket and walk close to keep warm. The air is humid and it smells like snow is on its way again. Even though it’s a Friday, this part of the neighborhood is mostly offices and small businesses, so everything’s shut down for the night and the sidewalks and roads are fairly quiet.

“Did you have fun?”  
“Yep. Did you?”  
“More than I would’ve alone. Thanks for coming.”  
“Huh, that’s true; it seems like everyone was paired off. Thanks for the invite.”

You pause at a cross-walk with some other guys out late, and Spark glances at them. You follow his gaze and see a quiet pair of men bundled up against the cold. One of them meets your stare and his eyes crinkle with a smile, the rest of his face hidden under a scarf. You smile back and turn to Spark again. He’s looking the other way, over his shoulder.

“Well, I would have been happy to have you there, anyway.”  
“I would have gone either way.”  
“You did a pretty great job on that song. I think your staff must be biased. Or maybe they’re deaf.”  
“Thanks.”

Spark looks distracted, but the light changes before you can ask about it and everyone’s moving. You start turning down the cross-street at the opposite corner and feel him resist and tug you forward, continuing along the main.

“Uh, home is that way?”  
“We can go another block this way.”  
“I guess… Too bad we’re going the wrong way or we could stop at the Prancing Vulpix.”  
“Mm-hm.”  
“Something wrong?”  
“I’m fine.”

He squeezes your hand and leans over to kiss your temple. His voice is low when he speaks.

“Someone’s following us. I want to get us somewhere with people.”  
“Those guys we passed?”

You kiss his cheek and glance behind to see who it might be. You don’t see anyone, but your scope is limited.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

You face forward again. A pair of guys smoking around a fire hydrant casually step back into the sidewalk to block your path. They’re openly carrying at least one pokeball each, as far as you can see. They don’t look friendly at all. Spark steps slightly in front of you.

“We’re good, thanks.”  
“That’s good. Listen, I’m short on cash, can you help me out?”  
“Wish I could. Plastic only. Happy holidays, boys.”

You feel something small, hard, and round get pressed into your palm and feel your heart pick up double time. Every pokeball has a feel of the pokemon within it; this one has a faint electrical vibration that makes the hair on your neck raise a little. Spark closes your fingers around the pokeball and sidesteps the guys off the curb and into the street. You lean closer to Spark and keep your gaze down, hoping they’ll leave you both alone, but they’re not easily dissuaded. One follows after you.

“Hey, come on. Don’t be rude, man.”  
“I don’t have anything you want.”

An arm grabs you around the shoulders and yanks you away from Spark. You yelp and tighten your grip on the pokeball. The other guy puts himself between you and Spark.

“You sure about that?”  
“Let her go. I’m a trainer and I’m carrying. You don’t want a fight.”

“Hey honey, do me a favor and dump out your purse.”  
“Take my bag, you can sell it. There’s nothing in it.”

You throw your bag aside and use the moment of distraction to wrench free. The pokeball in your hand expands and you throw it at your feet. Dash leaps out in front of you and growls, the spiky clumps of his fur standing on end and crackling. The guy that grabbed you looks unsure if he wants to move toward your bag or not. You back up another few steps, staring down your opponent like you would an unpleasant bug. Spark gives the command:

“Dash, tackle and bite!”

True to his name, Dash is fast and leaps on the guy, throwing him down on the sidewalk. An arm braces him back, just shy of snapping his jaws in the man’s face. Dash bites the man’s arm instead, and he yells. Those needle-like eevee teeth are sharp; you can only imagine what an evolved one’s bite is like.

A hand grabs your face and yanks you backwards. Before you can even make a sound, you’re being dragged into the alley a few paces back, out of sight. The last thing you see is the guy squaring off with Spark let loose a machoke. You try to scream, but the leather grip on your jaw has your nose covered. You feel panic and bile rise in your throat.

And then you can’t see Spark at all anymore and you’re being shoved face-first against the dirty brick wall of the alley. The movement shifts your attacker’s fingers, letting you breathe somewhat. You try to struggle, land an elbow, a kick, anything. A fist punches your side and you feel the wind knocked out of you. He brings his other hand around, and there’s a knife in it, with a blade as long as your hand. That knife could really fuck you up. You’d be gasping if your mouth was free, but instead all you can do is breathe louder and feel your eyes burn hot. He presses his body closer, and the icy flat of the blade touches your cheek.

“Yeah, you know what that is. I want everything you got on you.”

Your exclamation is a muffled grunt and you feel tears run hot over your cold cheeks. There’s no way you can reach anything to give him. There’s only one reason he could have to put you face-down against a wall and you’d rather run home naked in a white-out than let him follow through on that. His hand lets go of your mouth, the knife still in place and you feel him grabbing at your coat, grabbing under your coat. You start sobbing in earnest.

“Please don’t hurt me, I’ll give you my coat and jewelry and everything in my pockets, ok, please!”

You hear the lightning strike before you actually see it. The knife leaves your face and suddenly a yellow blur at your peripheral is dragging the man down and you hear him scream and stagger away. You don’t need a better opening than that and take off running through the snow and garbage, blinded by your tears and sliding on black ice underfoot. Another blast makes everything shake and you duck, covering your head with a cry.

You crash against something that grabs you and you shriek and flail. Your arms are caught and thrown down and hands grasp your face and force your gaze up. It’s Spark. He looks unhurt, if disheveled. He looks scared. Why is he scared? And then he’s hugging you tight and there are sirens and yelling and people and all you can see is Spark’s scarf and sweater through his open jacket. What sounds like police rush by you.

“I’m so sorry, are you ok?”  
“Y-yeah, just shook up.”  
“Are you hurt?”  
“Not really. Are you?”  
“I’ll be fine.”  
“Pikaa?”

You look up, your makeup likely smeared to hell from your tears, and find Boomer on Spark’s shoulder reaching out a paw to you. You realize you’re shaking. How long have you been shaking? The tiny paw touches your face and you try on a wobbly smile. There’s blood on Boomer’s fur.

“Boomer, are you hurt?”  
“Pika cha.”  
“He’s not hurt, just dirty.”  
“Why, what happened? Where’s Dash?”  
“Dash is fine. Boomer’s fine. I’m fine.”  
“What did you do?”

You try to look at the people walking by –EMTs and police- but Spark grabs your chin and makes you look at him. You feel your stomach turn with unease.

“Don’t look. Please.”  
“Spark?”  
“We’ll need to go with the cops and give a statement.”  
“Why aren’t you answering me? Oh, god, is he dead?”  
“Nobody’s dead, I just don’t want you looking at that mess.”  
“How bad a mess?”

You reach up to touch his hands and though he doesn’t make a sound, he winces and you tear your eyes away to look at his hands. His knuckles are raw and bloody.

“Did that machoke do this?”  
“No, I did this to his trainer’s face.”  
“I was so scared when I saw it. I thought he was going to beat you.”  
“Some punkass like him couldn’t hope to outdo me in a battle.”  
“This wasn’t a pokemon battle! He could have ordered his machoke to kill you!”

Spark says nothing and you feel like crying all over again at the thought of what that machoke could have done to him. This time, the tears do come, and you can’t stop them.

“Let’s go.”

You cry most of the way in the back of the patrol car. You’re questioned separately about the incident and after what feels like hours, are dismissed and hail a taxi home. Everyone agrees Spark’s actions were self-defense and the muggers will be spending the rest of the holiday season behind bars, once they’re out of the hospital.

Spark keeps a bandaged hand on you as you climb the stairs to your apartment. You’re not sure if it’s to keep you steady, or because he’s afraid you might vanish right in front of him again. By the time you’re inside and hanging up your coats, you feel a bit better, albeit exhausted. Spark hugs you and you hear his breath turn shaky.

“I got so scared when I lost sight of you. God knows what could have happened.”  
“Same here. I’m glad we’re both ok. How are your hands feeling?”  
“They’ll be fine. Are you sure you’re ok?”  
“Yes, I promise.”  
“Ok, good.”  
“I’m really glad I let you move in.”

He laughs against your hair and hugs you tighter. He doesn’t let go of you for a while more.

 

Your girlfriends come over to keep you company while Spark’s at work. You spend the day baking, putting up decorations, and catching up. Retelling the events of the previous night incites a group hug and Rose tearing up. Lunch is served with the wine they brought and it doesn’t take long for the conversation to drift towards your roommate.

“I know I’ve probably seen him about town, but how come you haven’t introduced us?”

Rose gives Aurora a sideways glance and then looks at you with a raised eyebrow as she sips her wine. You can see the apprehension on her face. Aurora’s looking at her food and doesn’t notice.

“We haven’t been together that long. I never got around to it.”  
“Got a pic? I don’t think I’ve even seen him.”

You search your holocaster for one of the gym’s PR videos. Rose clears her throat.

“He lives here, right? So, when did you stop being just roommates?”

Aurora grunts an affirmation as she fits a mouthful of pasta into her mouth. Her grey-blue eyes are excited at the news that you’ve found someone. As far as either of them know, you had been frustrated and single since moving into town. You hand them your holocaster with the video pulled up and Aurora hits play.

“Oh, shit, is that him?”  
“Yeah, he’s the gym leader.”

Rose turns faintly pink –enough to rival her hair- and covers her mouth, giving you a furtive, wide-eyed glance. Aurora’s far less restrained.

“Daaaaamn, homeboy’s a tsunami, cause he got me all wet.”

Shrieks of laughter ring through the kitchen at that. You laugh into your napkin as the video plays out. When it’s done, Rose sets your holocaster on the table within reach. Aurora applauds.

“Babe, your man could turn me straight for life. You better cherish that.”  
“You’re halfway there. Join the dark side.”  
“Nah, y’all don’t have boobs.”  
“But when did you stop being just rent buddies and, y’know, this.”  
“Um, like, two months ago?”  
“Who moved first?”  
“Me.”  
“What did you do?”  
“Came home drunk, kissed him, ended up making out.”  
“Is that it?”

You ignore the question to roll up a forkful of your fettuccini alfredo and eat it. The suspense is too much for your friends.

“You think they did it?”  
“How would I know?”  
“I’d have done him already.”  
“But you have no self-restraint.”  
“Problem?”  
“Come on, only two months in? Maybe it’s still awkward.”  
“Mm-mm.”

All eyes turn to you as you sip your wine.

“Few days ago.”  
“YEAHAHA!”  
“Seriously?”  
“And? Was it all romantic and shit?”

You try not to laugh. Wine through the nose couldn’t be good for your sinuses.

“Uh… I don’t know if I would call it _romantic_ , but it was very good. He’s…”  
“Got good rhythm?”  
“… _Practiced_.”  
“So, he’s got skills?”  
“Nothing to complain about. Except I felt like I’d just ridden day one of the Tour de Kalos.”  
“Oh! That’s some good lovin’.”  
“But does he treat you well?”  
“He’s a complete angel. Never met a guy like him.”

The silence is profound. Gone are the raunchy comments and shrill exclamations. Your friends are looking at you, one with a satisfied grin, the other slowly shaking her head.

“What? I went after him for his dick and stayed for the rest. He’s great, I swear.”

Your friends share a glance. Why do they look like they know something you don’t?

“I’ll start saving now.”  
“What?”  
“For the bridesmaid dress, and all the rest.”  
“Same.”  
“Guys, woah. We’ve only been together like, two months.”  
“Mark my words, you’re going to marry that man.”  
“Pft yeah, ok, _whatever_.”  
“You’re in love with him. Look at you. You have that sparkly, lovesick aura around you. It’s so saccharine, it’s revolting.”  
“Geez, sorry. Are things not going well with you and Bliz?”  
“Don’t be sorry, babe, she’s just stressed.”  
“Blizzard and I decided to take a break.”  
“What? Why?! Dammit, Rose, I liked him. He’s good for you.”  
“Not _that_ kind of break, calm down. We were just seeing each other like, every single day and it was getting exhausting.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“He knows that, right?”  
“Yeah. We still message each other, but you know, absence makes the heart fonder or something.”  
“I guess it could get annoying when you’re both work-from-home types…”  
“Your getting-back-together sex will be bomb, though.”  
“Thanks, Ro. That’s reassuring.”  
“You know I love you and want only the best for you, Rosie.”

The cookies are packed up in tins and you’re all draped in throws on the sofas watching Game of Thrones reruns when Spark gets in. Bojangles is curled up on the rug under the coffee table, paws all neatly tucked in, and you notice his ears tilt before you hear the key in the lock. The girls smother a giggle when they hear Spark release Boomer and Dash and tell them to “go say hi to mommy.”

“Pikaa~”

Boomer jumps into your arms and rubs his head on your chin. Dash trots up with his favorite toy and deposits it in your lap.

“Hi, boys, had a good day?”

Dash barks and noses your hand for a scratch. Spark comes in after them and his smile turns a little shy when he sees you have company. Possibly far worse than any mugger were a significant other’s female friends.

Introductions are made around and your friends are quick to mask their naughty thoughts with polite smiles and friendly waves. Spark braves the living room and comes over to kiss you hello.

“How was your day?”  
“Good. You alright?”  
“I’m fine. The girls were here all day. Took my mind off it completely.”  
“Ok, I’m glad.”  
“There’s leftovers in the fridge and fresh cookies if you want any.”  
“Fresh cookies?”  
“Kaa?”  
“Yeah, we were baking.”  
“Oh, then I’ll have to try some. You girls want tea?”  
“Sure.”  
“You brew it, I’ll drink it.”  
“Yes, thank you.”

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Aurora is quietly cursing with a massive grin.

“Sugar, if you don’t put a ring on that, I just might.”  
“You can try.”  
“Keep it in your pants, Ro. Let her enjoy the honeymoon before you start trying to snipe him.”  
“Kachuu?”  
“Are they part of his gym team?”  
“Yup. This is Boomer, that’s Dash. They’re his children.”  
“And such cute kiddies they are. Dash, come. Let auntie Ro love you.”  
“He’s not very snuggly, Ro, he might shock-”

Aurora hauls the jolteon into her lap, kisses his nose, and starts rubbing his belly.

“D’aww look at you big, strong softie. Who’s a good boy? Who’s a handsome thunder beast, eh?”

Dash barks back and wriggles with a happy whine.

“You’re not gonna zap your auntie Ro, naw, you know you love me.”

“Uh… Alright, then.”  
“By the way, I got you that thing. Left the bag in your room.”  
“Oh, thank you so much, Rose. Let me know what I owe you.”  
“You should thank Bliz. He spotted it.”  
“I’ll bring him cookies tomorrow, will that do?”

“Oh, damn, can you rewind? I love the part where her dragons destroy that fleet of boats.”  
“You know, I heard there’s an eevee out there that’s a fairy type. Imagine Dany meets it?”  
“Mother of dragons, meet clefairy? I could see that.”  
“The dragons could just eat it.”  
“Ew.”  
“What, _ew_? We’re watching Game of Thrones and that’s what makes you say ew?”  
“They did already rip a few Harpies into pieces last season. It’s not that off.”  
“Yeah, but I like clefairy.”

“I’m closing my eyes and hoping I don’t see anything.”

Spark returns with a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of cookies. Boomer hops down and waits expectantly by the edge of the coffee table to inspect the goodies and Bojangles stretches and creeps out to see what’s in it for him. Aurora sets Dash down and lets his ears slide through her hands as he trots off.

“You don’t like Game of Thrones?”  
“Quick, pause it right there!”  
“No, love it. But I missed the last two seasons and I haven’t caught up yet.”  
“Spark, this is a problem.”  
“I know, I’m so behind.”  
“You’re off starting this week, right? I’m giving you homework.”  
“Yes ma’am!”

Spark hits the shower to avoid spoilers as you finish up the episode, and your friends pack it in for the day. You see them to the door and make sure they get their tins of cookies to bring home. Spark re-emerges to say goodbye and you pitch the idea of going clubbing one night, all of you. A date is tentatively agreed upon and the girls begin their descent down the stairs, waving farewell. You wave and shut the door and turn to look at Spark.

“You’ve officially been introduced as The Boyfriend. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”  
“No complaints here. They seem nice. Next time you’re not watching spoilers, I’ll be more sociable.”

You chuckle and reach for his hand.

“Don’t worry about it, we’ve all been there. Now, how are your hands doing?”

You don’t wait for a reply, and instead hold up his hand to look for yourself.

“You haven’t changed the bandages?”  
“It’s fine.”  
“You have to change them every day. You’re just caging bacteria under there.”  
“You’re really cute when you’re motherly.”  
“You’re not sweet-talking your way out of this.”

His grin is shameless.

“C’mon, I’ll do it for you. Just go sit on the sofa.”  
“You never let me win.”  
“Thank me when you don’t need antibiotics. Go.”

You give his rear a playful smack as you part ways in the hall, he heading for the living room and you for the bathroom to hunt down your first aid materials and a clean washcloth. You grab a plastic bag and meet him on the sofa. You set everything down and take one of his hands to begin removing the bandages the EMTs put on the night before.

“Don’t you get time off for the holidays?”  
“Yeah, but not for another week.”  
“Still don’t want to go home?”  
“Mm-mm.”  
“I would go with you, if you wanted.”  
“Thanks, but it’s fine. This is my first holiday away from home, and to be honest, I’m kind of looking forward to the peace and quiet.”  
“If you do feel a bit homesick, my family throws a kickass dinner. There’s always room at the table.”

You pause wiping his scratches with the warm, damp washcloth. Just to be sure, you run his words over again, and once more in your head.

“Are you saying you want me to meet your parents?”  
“It’s kind of the thing to do when you show up to their house to eat.”

You look up at him to be sure he’s not teasing, but you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t tease about this. Something about your expression makes him laugh.

“Why do you look so surprised?”  
“You want me to meet your parents?”  
“Yes?”  
“That’s kind of a big deal!”

Spark’s amusement becomes doubt. You’re giddy –positively vibrating inside- but you can’t tell if it’s fear or glee.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”  
“Are you sure you want to do this? What if they get hung up on the idea of us together and it doesn’t work out? What if they don’t like me and make things difficult? Oh my god, what if they think we’re like, already engaged or something?”

Spark leans back and gives you a cockeyed look. You shut your mouth and feel your cheeks turn red. Remembering your task, you set the washcloth aside and begin dabbing antibacterial ointment on the scratches with a cotton swab.

“What? Some parents are kinda… special.”  
“Ok, well, I don’t know about all that, but my family are really chill.”  
“Will they be all judgy if they know we got together because we live together?”  
“They don’t need to know the details yet. We met at a café. We live in the same neighborhood. They won’t ask questions.”

As you begin unwrapping the bandaids to stick on, he leans forward and kisses the top of your head.

“Think it over if you’re not sure. And don’t worry about the nonsense you see in movies.”  
“It’s not nonsense. Last time I met anyone’s parents, they legit thought we were engaged and I was already pregnant. They had baby clothes and names picked out. It was mortifying.”  
“No way, you’re kidding. No. You have _got_ to be kidding.”  
“I swear on Bo’s life it happened.”  
“Wow. I think I’m starting to see why you never settled on anyone. There’s a load of crazy out there.”  
“You have no idea.”  
“But are you?”  
“Crazy?”  
“Settling.”  
“You mean on you?”  
“Mm.”

A shy grin cuts across your face and you feel your blush return and feel like a silly girl with a crush all over again. Spark ducks to look at your face and you know he’s grinning when he speaks.

“Oh, no, that smile can only mean good things.”

You giggle and turn even redder. It feels mostly like embarrassment splashed over with the paint of a dozen other emotions you can’t name.

“And she’s giggling. I think we’ve got a winner.”  
“You mean _you_ won.”  
“I won? How? Was this a contest?”  
“You just… win, ok?”  
“No, no, you can’t tell me I win and not explain why.”  
“Yes, I can.”  
“How was this a contest? How did I only find out now?”

You are kicking that line. You better shut up or jump over it.  
I can’t help it; he just has this way of asking.  
He’s not such a dumb blonde. He’s going to see right through you.  
Let him. I’m too scared.  
Couldn’t wait to bang him, but now that you’re getting more than you expected, you don’t know what to do, do you?  
I’m scared of moving too fast. And now he wants to bring me home to mom and dad.  
No, girl. You’re scared of a relationship working for a change.  
…  
You need to stop holding him at arm’s length.  
It’s getting harder to do that. He’s stronger than me.  
He’s done all this before, and obviously it worked –for a few years, at least.  
What if I’m the one letting him down?

You gather up the wrappers to drop in the bag where the used bandages and cotton swab already were waiting to go in the trash.

“There, all done. Does it hurt?”  
“If I say yes, will you kiss it better?”  
“Of course.”  
“And if I say no?”  
“I’ll still kiss it better.”

You kiss above the row of bandaids on each hand and feel him lean closer, tugging you by your hands now held in his. His lips are gently teasing, and you can feel his fingers threading between yours, caressing your hands as your palms work ever closer to joining. His hands feel so much bigger than yours, and you know they’re stronger, but right now they’re holding yours like they’re made of glass.

“Thanks for fixing me up.”  
“You’ll get my bill in the mail.”

He smiles against your lips and kisses you again.

“What’s my total?”  
“Feed me chocolate and tell me I’m pretty? Also, kiss me.”  
“I don’t think we have any chocolate in the house.”  
“Aww.”  
“But you are pretty. Without makeup, without your hair done. Without jewelry or nice clothes.”

His kiss is lingering and sweet and his flattery makes you chuckle.

“More than that, you’re beautiful.”

Another kiss.

“Sexy.”  
“Oh, come on…”  
“You frighten me the way a rare wild pokemon frightens a trainer.”

Another kiss, harder, longer. You find yourself unable to let him go when he breaks again.

“You have the power to destroy me, and instead you let me near. You let me become your friend, touch your beauty with my own hands.”  
“Spark, that’s beautiful.”  
“Will I ever understand all your mysteries?”  
“You’re welcome to try.”  
“I won’t stop trying.”

The next kiss is brief and breathless, and then his lips are trailing down your jaw. Your fingers tighten on his hands. You bite your lip as he kisses your ear, but your body isn’t having any of this getting aroused business. Your next gasp is sharper and Spark pauses when he feels you stiffen.

“You ok?”  
“Crap. No.”  
“What did I do?”  
“It’s not you…”

You sigh and take a moment to kiss your dignity goodbye.

“My period started yesterday.”  
“Oh. You know, I heard sex is good for cramps.”  
“Not when getting horny makes them worse!”

You feel like you could set something on fire by proximity alone. Did he seriously offer sex as a solution to cramps? As in, he would be a willing participant?! He chuckles and kisses your cheek.

“Aww, you poor thing. I’m sorry.”  
“Thanks for not laughing at me, or being grossed out.”  
“No worries. Tad disappointed, but I’ll live.”  
“There’s no reason _you_ have to go without.”  
“I didn’t mean it that way-”  
“I’m offering.”  
“Then I’d be a fool to decline. You sure you’re in the mood, though?”  
“To get you in my mouth? Hell yes.”

It was so refreshing to watch Spark turn red for once. You let go of his hand and delve your touch under his shirt as you go for his throat. He flinches a little at the feel of your hand caressing up his body and you can’t help smirking. Curious that he wasn’t ticklish when you stripped him and felt him up. Maybe there was a tipping point when arousal won out over silly nerve spasms. Your fingers find a nipple and your teeth claim an earlobe. His gasp sends a momentary thrill between your legs and is promptly answered with clenching unpleasantness. Oh boy, this was going to be interesting.

You pull his shirt up and he does you one better in pulling it off entirely. There, much easier to put your mouth all over him. You climb a little closer, trailing kisses down his chest. His breath hitches when your tongue touches his other nipple, and then his fingers are caressing through your hair. An open-mouthed kiss earns you another gasp, and you file that info away for later, curious to expand on this research when you’re free to enjoy performing it.

You have to pause and get up off the sofa to kneel on the rug to reach anywhere further. Spark kisses you briefly before you give him a playful shove backwards into the cushions with a grin. His abs are to die for. One hand goes for the tie on his sweatpants while your mouth teases his belly with kisses and nips at random, keeping him on the edge of laughing and moaning. The cord pulls free of itself and above you, Spark sounds a little breathless and amused.

“Are you doing that on purpose?”  
“Maybe.”  
“You know I’m ticklish, right?”  
“I know.”

You tug his pants down a bit, impressed by his confidence to not only brave your friends, but to do it with no underwear. You kiss his belly button and prod your tongue into it. The change in his tone is immediate and his belly goes taut; bingo. No one’s laughing now. Hands caress along Spark’s thighs, impressed by the muscle tone and steely strength. Spark’s happy to cooperate and you both get the waistband down his thighs.

Without preamble, you lean in and lick him from tip to base, glad he’s not hard yet. You’re able to fit most of him in your mouth comfortably. You’ve never had much luck with your gag reflex, so you don’t push it. You can feel his pulse against your tongue, feel him twitching as you bob your head. You can _feel_ him becoming firm. His breathing is getting louder and sharper; you have to think about very dull, mundane things to keep your body from acting up.

_Go figure; one of the few times I’m eager to suck a dick, and I can’t even remotely enjoy it. Fuck my life._

You let him go to catch your breath. A hand reaches between his legs to cup his testicles and you move your head lower to kiss and lick them. The angle’s too awkward, or you’d be trying to fit them in your mouth. (As soon as you think it, you know that’s exactly what you want to do.) Fingers stroke your hair and you take it as a hint to move back to the main event, but continue gently fondling them in your hand anyway. It’s almost spiteful, you think, in a backward and comical way. You are going to make Spark enjoy this for both your sakes, so help you Mew.

Another few licks and you’re gently pulling back the foreskin off the head. You take him into your mouth again, licking the slit and earning a breathy moan. His fingers tighten in your hair. You repeat the move and his hips twitch. You pull off, gasping, and replace your mouth with your hand. You turn your gaze upward and graze your parted lips over the head, reminding him you’re not backing away. Spark’s slouched back against the cushions looking flushed and lightly squinting those traffic-stopping baby blues at you. His hand moves and strokes your cheek. He licks his lips and you have to tear your gaze away, masking the sudden clench in your abdomen under the guise of wiping a bit of saliva off your face. The look on his face makes you want to climb into his lap and ride him until you’re both screaming.

_Ten on ten, definitely the most conflicted blowjob of my life._

You put your mouth back to work and squeeze your fingers a little, earning a hiss and a groan. He’s so hard, he’s got to be close. You swirl your tongue over the head and bob your head, sucking harder and hear him swear. You’d be grinning if your mouth wasn’t so full. His hand returns to the back of your head and you lightly rake your fingernails over his inner thigh. He arches a little into you with a cry. You think you hear him warn you that he’s about to come but you’re too focused on sucking his dick and thinking about shoveling snow to pay much attention. You kind of wish he would already –damn his athletic endurance!- because the longer this goes on, the hornier you’re getting, and that only means pain for you right now. You distantly hear his breathing change and draw back just in time to get a mouthful of ejaculate and a sharper pull on your hair.

He’s still twitching a little when you back off. You reach onto the coffee table to find the washcloth and discretely spit into it, then lick Spark clean again. He smooths your hair and you glance up when he starts laughing. He sounds a little worn out.

“Damn, baby…”

You smile and sit back. Your tea’s lukewarm, but you take a sip and swish it around. He pulls his pants up and catches your gaze as he puts his shirt back on and you watch him blush all over again. It never gets old, or any less endearing.

“Did we enjoy ourselves?”  
“Very.”

You get up just enough to park it on the sofa and he smooches your cheek. You cuddle up and rest your head on his shoulder.

“How you feeling?”  
“An awful mix of horny and crampy.”  
“That good, huh? Lay out, I’ll rub your back.”

Spark scoots over to the end and you lay out over the remaining length of the sofa. He grabs the remote and a throw-pillow for his lap and you lay your head on it, tucking your legs in on the end and pulling one of the throws over your legs. As you’re getting comfortable, he starts browsing for a movie.

“Any requests?”  
“Something tropical, maybe. Or funny.”  
“Ok, we’ve got… Predator? Mmnah. Surfing penguins? Eh. Jumanji, no thanks.”  
“You don’t like Jumanji?”  
“Seen it way too many times. Oh, movies about pirates?”  
“YES! The mermaid one!”

Spark laughs and queues it up.

“My lady wants pirates, then she will have pirates.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Comfy?”  
“Yes. You’re a good lounge.”  
“I aim to please.”

He reaches down and strokes your back as the opening logos run past.

“The penguin one is really funny. You would like it. All the characters are animated pokemon I’ve never heard of. It’s shot to look like reality tv.”  
“That does sound like something I’d like. Ok, I’ll queue it up next.”  
“Did you eat already?”  
“Mm. You?”  
“Had a late lunch. Not super hungry.”

Spark’s hand moves to the small of your back and he’s doing some kind of circular pressure that makes everything from the waist down feel delightfully floaty and wonderful. It’s better than over the counter painkillers. You sigh contently.

“Everything ok?”  
“Mmm, very. Whatever you’re doing is magic.”  
“Good.”  
“Best boyfriend ever.”

He pauses to lean down and kiss your temple. The massage resumes and the movie progresses. You close your eyes for a moment, and when you open them again, it’s brightly morning and you’re in your bed with Bojangles stretched out at your feet. Your body feels deeply relaxed and well-rested. You figure Spark’s left already, and silently hope he wrecks every trainer that comes up against him today.

_Best boyfriend ever. He just conscripted himself to my monthly pain relief._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my lifeblood. If you like what you're reading, spare 30 seconds to tell me. If you don't like what you're reading, tell me why. Help me help you, savvy?
> 
>  
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> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	7. That girl is a problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booze, dirty dancing, semi-public sex, and a surprise cameo from an old flame... 
> 
> Hey Spark, say _fuck_ again.  
>  Atta boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being over 11,000 words, so I had no choice but to split it. That's why this chapter seems uncharacteristically short. 
> 
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

Bass washed over you as your group headed up the stairs from coat check. Most of your friends and Spark’s were off for the holidays, and between too many family engagements, or none at all, everyone had unanimously agreed they were over the holiday season and wanted to get drunk and dance. Despite the howling blizzard outside, everyone had made the effort to dress up and show up, and though you were only meeting some of them for the first time, you appreciated how hot you all looked. Baddest squad in the club: table and bottles, please.

“My god, is this necessary.”  
“Oh, yes, tequila!”  
“Spark, are you drinking?”  
“Sure, I’m on vacation.”  
“Ayy, Spark is drinking?!”  
“Line ‘em up, everybody take one.”  
“Pass me a lime?”  
“If I have to hear one more version of jingle bells, I’m going to jingle that person’s bells.”  
“I can’t tell if that’s a threat or an invitation.”

Shot glasses slammed the table. The party was officially on. The group chatted and drank some more, and people shuffled around to talk to others. Holocasters clicked and flashes went off as evidence of your good time was captured and posted online. Growing increasingly giddy, you and the other girls took off like a flock by some unknown, unanimous signal to go dance. Let the boys booze up and watch if they needed the courage.

The flashing lights and dark crowd were easy to get caught up in, and your little flock landed and made space for yourselves. It felt like forever since you’d been dancing –and not dancing in a room full of judgmental strangers where shaking your rear too much would be deemed inappropriate. It took a song or two to loosen up and get into the music. The other girls didn’t seem to care about being perceived as goofy, and it made you laugh. A few guys cruised by, but you dismissed them after every other song change.

The opening of a viral track started and the club went up in a roar. You were really glad you chose flat boots, because keeping up with the footwork in heels would be trouble. Your friends fall in around you and the dancefloor begins to form several gaps around you and other likeminded circles mimicking the dance from the music video. Holocasters around you are held aloft, flashes going off. The crowd shifts and parts, merging your circle with a neighboring one. It takes some quick thinking to avoid crashing into each other, and as you move, you spot a familiar brunette across from you and your heart does a double-take. As the track comes to an end and flows into the next, your girls shriek and laugh, slapping hi-fives and clustering together as the crowd swallows the empty space again. You pull away from your friends to wade through bodies and wave.

“Candela, hey~”

She looks happily surprised and reaches for you, pulling your arm to get you through. And then you’re hugging her tight, and she pulls back just enough to kiss you on the mouth. The scent of her perfume and rum on her breath feels like last night. For a moment, it’s hard to remember anything outside of her touching you. When she breaks the kiss, the noise comes flooding back and the colored lights are dazzling. She grins and briskly wipes her lipgloss from around your mouth.

“Hey, it’s been a minute!”  
“Where have you been?”  
“What? Hold on.”

She looks around as the music picks up and points to the rear bar where it’s quieter. You clutch her hand and let her lead the way. At least back here you can talk without screaming into each other’s ears. It’s darker and the under-counter neon gives just enough light to see each other by.

“Amaretto on ice, right?”  
“Thanks, I have a table upstairs.”  
“Oh, look at you. The ones you were with? You won’t lose them now, huh?”  
“Hah, no. We’re good. The boy’s up there, too.”  
“Boy? You got a boy?”  
“I got a boy.”

It’s brief, but there’s a flicker of disappointment across her face and then she’s sucking her teeth and grinning.

“A boy, no shit? What the eff is that?”

You giggle and give her the short edition of your latest relationship. She laughs at all the right cues, but the humor doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She orders a pair of liquid cocaines and slides one to you without asking.

“You sure meet folks in the strangest circumstances.”  
“It’s my special talent. Hey, did you change your email?”  
“No?”  
“I wrote you a few times but you never wrote back.”  
“Oh. Uh, yeah, I saw. I didn’t know what to say, to be honest.”  
“Hi, how’s life?”

Her glass slams the bar and she swallows. Her head is down, and you get the feeling she can’t look at you even when she does sit up. She hooks a heel on the crossbar of her stool. Her skirt is short enough that the move shows off her shorts underneath.

“I can’t just do that. I can’t be like that. Please don’t hate me.”  
“I’ve never hated you. I just wondered.”  
“You’re the one who wanted to go, must I remind you?”  
“Fair enough, I guess…”

You drink your shot and huff a breath at the flood cinnamon. The alcohol sends a sharp tingle down the back of your neck. You think about kissing her again if it’ll make her look less unhappy. You lightly set the glass down. Maybe you’d get a rum chaser.

“Oh, come on, don’t make that face.”  
“What face?”  
“The one you’re doing now. Like someone threw your ice-cream on the ground.”  
“Sorry… I did –do miss you, though.”  
“Tell you what. Let’s do brunch. You have some time off now?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Ok, we’ll do it. You can even bring the boy if you want. You tell him?”  
“Ah… no?”  
“Maybe you better? I dunno, your call.”

Candela looks you over and gives a small smile, and you know this one’s for you because her eyes look cheerful, finally.

“You look happy. Good that you found someone.”  
“I am. Yeah. Um, how about you? Got anybody special?”  
“Got a few bodies, like-” she kisses her fingertips like a proud chef and you smirk. “But no one like that. I dunno. I can’t decide, I guess.”  
“Aw, Candy, you’ll find someone. They can’t hide forever.”

You stroke her arm and give a gentle smile. She reaches up to touch the fabric of your halter, trailing her fingertips up the strap around your neck. Her gaze keeps flicking to your lips.

“Where’s your gang at? Will they miss you if you come up to mine?”  
“Doubt it.”  
“Yeah? C’mon for a bit, we have tequila and vodka. There’s someone you should meet.”  
“Aw, no. Don’t you try and set me up.”  
“It’s not. I just want you to meet her. She’s hysterical.”  
“Sweetness, you better not be fuckin’ with me.”  
“Yeah, yeah, now come.”  
“Yeah ma’am!”

You slap her rear to get her moving and grab her hand to tug her upstairs to the tables. Your friends catch your gaze as you skip past with Candela in tow and you briskly wave at Aurora to follow. She gives you a cockeyed look and you’re already heading up, but you hope she’s following all the same.

“Hope that boy appreciates the view I’m getting.”

You yip and skitter sideways when Candela pays you back for that earlier slap. You both share a giggle.

“Where you at?”  
“There, with all the hot dudes.”  
“Which one’s yours?”  
“Blonde, Candy.”  
“Oh, right. Legs for weeks?”  
“Yup.”  
“Huh. You could do worse. I mean I see the appeal, really. He any good where it counts.”

You throw a look over your shoulder and your grin makes her laugh.

“Aayy~ Get it, girl! You ever want a player three, hit me up.”  
“Don’t tempt me.”  
“Oh, but I live for it.”

You introduce everyone and your smile gets a touch more predatory as you spot Aurora approaching.

“Aurora, c’mere. Have you met Candela?”  
“Believe I just did. Hey, friends call me Ro.”  
“Everyone calls me Candela. This one calls me Candy.”  
“That’s neat. Mm… how do you know each other?”  
“We ran into each other and hit it off.”  
“Way back.”  
“Right. Well, I need some tequila. Care for a shot?”  
“I could drink.”

You smile as they grab seats and Aurora sets up the shots, chattering on animatedly and pausing to lean in and say something that makes Candela laugh. Ro’s not good at faking interest in people she’s not interested in, personable though she is. There’s a shot of vodka left out, and you’re claiming it.

You check in on Spark chatting with Blizzard and he pulls you into his lap. They’ve each got tumblers full of something clear with crushed mint leaves and ice.

“Hey, gents, what’s good?”  
“Dancing. Drinking.”  
“You danced?”  
“No, but the view’s nice.”  
“Rose would love you to go down there.”  
“Ah, no. I don’t dance.”  
“Bullshit. You play at clubs all the time.”  
“Don’t have to; just hold your girl and let her do her thing.”  
“Really want me outta here, huh?”  
“You guys still trying to ignore each other?”  
“Yeah, the struggle continues.”  
“You fed up of that yet?”  
“Since day three.”  
“Then go down there. I have it on good authority the freeze out could end tonight.”  
“Fine, I get the drift. Thanks for the cookies, by the way.”  
“My pleasure.”

Spark kisses your neck after Blizzard leaves and you lean closer, slinging an arm behind him to brace on the back of the lounge. His fingertips are idly running up and down the outside of your thigh.

“I love your outfit. Have I said that yet?”  
“It’s my favorite song, play it again.”  
“Having fun?”  
“I danced. I met a friend. I’m trying to play matchmaker.”  
“I see that. Do you usually kiss your friends?”  
“Oh, you saw that? Um…”  
“Anything I should know?”  
“Baby, don’t be jealous.”  
“I’m just curious.”  
“We were kind of together for a while. I was trying it on for size.”  
“I take it you returned it.”

You shrug and pout a little. You play with the collar of his shirt and slip fingers under to trace his collarbones.

“We haven’t talked for a while, so we didn’t know how to react to each other. I care about her, but it’s been over.”  
“I see.”  
“Are you mad? Please say you’re not mad?”  
“Just surprised. You never mentioned women.”  
“A woman. Just one.”  
“That one woman, then. But if you say it’s over, then it’s over.”  
“Whose lap am I sitting in?”  
“Mine.”  
“And who am I thinking about maybe hitting the bathrooms with later?”  
“Well if you need me to hold your hand or your hair…”

You smirk and tap his jaw in a mock slap and he grins.

“Come and dance with me.”  
“Let me finish this before the ice melts.”  
“What are you drinking?”  
“Bliz recommended it.”

You take his glass for a taste, and it’s like an off-brand mojito with extra kick and citrus. As you’re rolling the taste of it around in your mouth, he plucks free the stir stick and sucks the liquid off the skewered maraschinos. You move in for a bite, and he dodges.

“No, these are mine.”  
“Just one?”  
“Go get your own.”  
“But I want yours~”  
“And I said get your own!”  
“But I want your cherry!”

You’re both giggling like bratty kids and he makes a show of grabbing one of the cherries in his teeth and sliding it free. You grab his jaw and kiss him to retrieve it, and for this he doesn’t fight back. You peck him again before moving back, biting down on the candied fruit.

“Hah, I win.”  
“I let you win.”  
“Still got your cherry.”  
“Don’t you wish.”

“Oh, get a room, you two.”

The tequila must be hitting hard, because Aurora and Candela are falling all over each other laughing at you and Spark. You can’t even find it in you to be mad; instead you cuddle closer and simply smile at them. Spark laughs and puts his lips to your ear.

“Nice work.”  
“Thanks, babe.”

You take one more sip of Spark’s drink and get up to find your girls on the dance floor. You know why they call it liquid courage, you think as your hips fall into pace with the beat. You can see the lights flickering over Blizzard’s blue hair and spot Rose’s arms around his neck. Not too far away are Spark’s friends, two of them sandwiching a stranger who looks quite happy to be there, and recently-dumped Cane making out with his rebound that didn’t look like it was going to stay rebound for long.

Hands touch your hips and you glance back to find an attractive stranger getting in line. He’s a good dancer, and polite about where to keep his hands. You let him stay for a while, thinking how, three months ago, you would have gone home with him out of pure frustration. His cheek brushes your hair, lips only a breath from your ear, and his thumb has found the gap in your halter and is stroking your bare skin. It’s not the touch you want, but it’s touch all the same.

Your eyes spot a flash of blonde hair moving through the crowd and you grin. The guy hugs your waist to still you somewhat and flashes a folded scrap of paper up to your face before tucking it into your halter. His lips touch your ear.

“Call me some time.”

You can feel Spark’s eyes on you before you actually see them. You turn around and kiss your dance partner’s cheek and smile.

“Bye.”

He looks confused and indignant when you back off, but when Spark wraps an arm around you, he gets the picture.

Yeah, that’s right. You don’t compare to this.  
Wonder if Spark would be down for a threesome?  
With another guy? Uhh…  
Scratch that. You can just barely handle him one on one.  
I’m so overdue for some of that vitamin D.

You turn around in Spark’s grasp and sling your arms around his neck. One of his hands is creeping down your back, pulling your body against his. You can smell the crushed mint and sugary alcohol on his breath, and the scent of his cologne on his clothes. He trails fingertips along your arm and falls into your rhythm, putting lips close to your ear.

“What did he stash in there?”  
“Probably his number. You wanna call him?”

You cackle as one of Spark’s hands goes for your chest to fish out the paper. You arch into his hand, and you both agree it’s a great opportunity for him to fondle you right there.

“Jealous?”

He tweaks your nipple and pulls the paper and his hand free. The paper is tossed away.

“Protective.”  
“Was just a dance.”  
“And Candela was just a kiss.”  
“You’re so jealous.”

You work a leg between his and grind against him. His hands find a happy home on your ass.

“The only hands on you should be mine.”  
“I don’t disagree.”

You’ve never seen Spark this jealous, and it’s fascinating and a bit of a rush. He never came off as the type to be clingy –cuddly, sure, and protective. But here he is, declaring his claim on you and fishing another guy’s number out of your top while pouting about your one kiss with Candela. Hell if it’s not sexy to be wanted like that.

There wasn’t even any tongue, it was practically PG. Thought most guys liked watching that kind of thing.  
Yeah, maybe most guys who didn’t have their secretary marry their girlfriend from under them.  
Oh, shit. Good point.  
This could work out to my advantage.  
Explain.  
We’re both liquored up and he’s jealous? Hello, amazing sex?  
Or he could just pussy out.  
He doesn’t look that jealous. Or that drunk.

You let your arms drop and turn around again, putting your ass against his crotch. Hands grip low on your hips and you feel him grind back on you, one point of contact becoming gradually firmer. Oh, yes, you have his attention. You arch to reach up and grasp the back of his neck. One of his hands creeps lower while the other slides up over your belly, coming to land just under your breasts. His hand on the joint of your thigh is dangerously close to the hem of your tiny skirt and you wish he’d just slip a little.

“You are so sexy,” his words vibrate down your body and you’re not sure if you’re hearing them or feeling them.

His breath is hot on your neck and then he’s kissing behind your ear, right where you practically have a weak knees button. You cover his hand on your thigh with yours and swallow hard, your breathing coming shorter. The hand on your chest moves to cup a breast and you’d be embarrassed if the place wasn’t so dim and the crowd so thick. You’re totally about to be that couple borderline fucking on the dance floor and you frankly don’t give a shit, because he’s hard against your ass and you’re tipsy enough to go through with it here and now. You turn your head and he meets your lips and you moan. He better do something with that information.

The stall door bounces as Spark slams it shut a little too hard and you’re trying to muffle your giggles. He shuts it and holds it still for a moment, hasty and worried anyone will notice. Between the shots and the laughing, your coordination’s not your best as you try to pull your panties down without falling. Spark hangs them on the door’s hook so you don’t lose them and your hands get to work on undoing his varnished jeans. You’re really glad the stalls are like individual little rooms, not those awkward metal boxes that make you feel just a bit exposed no matter what.

Once the condom’s on, you crouch to put your mouth on him and drool a little extra spit for good measure. It’s awkward as hell since you don’t want anything but your shoes touching the floor, and soon enough your legs start to complain so you stand again.

“How do we do this?”  
“Put your arms around my neck.”  
“Ok?”  
“And when I lift, put your legs around me.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“I’ve carried you before.”

Your back’s braced against one of the side walls, your arms around Spark’s neck, and he’s lifting one of your legs around his waist. His hands grab just under your ass and pull you off your feet. Your other leg swings up for purchase and your arms tighten, but he’s got you. It’s scary and exciting. Clutching one hand tighter, you reach down to help him angle into you, and the slightest drop of your body plunges him inside. You tense up, expecting him to go too far, but he stops. Your breath shivers out of you.

“You ok?”  
“Still a bit tight.”  
“I’ll be gentle.”  
“Please?”

You wrap your arm around him again and he kisses you. True to his word, he’s not slamming you like the last time, and he’s not trying to get any deeper, either. His grip changes and your body shifts just the slightest and you whimper sharply. Before he can stop, you break the kiss.

“Do that again.”

He does, and you moan aloud. Spark chuckles.

“Shh, the music’s not loud enough in here.”  
“I know, but it’s fucking good.”

He covers your mouth with his to muffle your cries. You would be quiet, you really would, but somehow he’s hitting all the right angles and ratcheting your arousal up to eleven, fast. You break for air and put your face against his neck, biting to muffle your cry as you come. Spark’s breathing hard against your hair.

“Wow, that was fast.”  
“Yeah, holy shit.”  
“You gonna come again if I keep moving?”  
“Probably. Does it matter?”  
“I love hearing you, but you need to quiet down before we get caught.” He kisses your head and chuckles. “I’m sorry, babe, you’re just really loud.”  
“I’ll try. Might as well go for it.”  
“You ready now?”  
“Yeah, let’s do this.”

Spark adjusts you and picks up where he left off. He can’t hold you up and rail you, so when he gets deeper, it’s still not as rough as you expected. Feels damn good, though, and he’s stuttering, so he’s got to be close. He’s having trouble keeping quiet, and you’re biting your knuckles trying to keep from screaming again. Your head hits the wall when he kisses you hard, and your whimpers are drowned by his moans. His hips slam into you a couple more times, and then there’s stillness.

Spark releases your mouth just enough for you both to breath and you’re disappointingly close to coming again, but he’s done. Oh well.

“Wow.”  
“You’re so tight, I just-”  
“It’s cool. Feel better?”  
“We totally just fucked in a bathroom. I can’t believe we did this. We fucked. In a bathroom.”  
“Say fuck again.”  
“Fuck.”

He laughs breathlessly. You grin and peck his lips again.

“We should get back before they think we ditched them.”  
“I’d rather continue this at home.”  
“Same, but they need to know we’re leaving. Nobody will ask questions.”  
“Ok, ok…”

You reach down to help him out of you and he carefully lets you back on your feet. Your legs feel pretty wobbly. You reach for the toilet paper and brace a foot on the edge of the toilet to clean up. He tosses the condom into the wastebasket, and you’re both snickering like it’s the world’s best joke only you know.

“Your panties, my lady.”  
“Thank you, sir.”

Except getting them back on without scraping your boots all over them was going to be impossible. You tuck them into his rear pocket and give his ass a squeeze and his lips one last kiss. He makes a sound of surprise and you giggle against his mouth. Both properly dressed again, you help him wipe off your lipstick and he cleans up your face in turn. Now for the really awkward part: leaving the bathroom. You crack the door and peek out.

“You’re good. See you back at the table.”  
“You’re not coming?”  
“I need to fix my makeup. It’s way obvious. Go.”

You let him out and shut the door again to make proper use of the facilities. Once you’re done and hands washed, you pull out your lipstick and start redrawing it. You hear one of the doors behind you creak open and turn your gaze in the mirror. You freeze when Candela meets your gaze.

“Hi.”  
“Uh… Hi?”

Oh, crap, she must have heard you and Spark going at it. Does she look like she knows?  
Ok, ok, just play it cool, pretend you weren’t up to anything.  
Right, just act like _all_ you did was come here to pee.  
That sounds normal. Ok, go.

You’re about to nonchalantly go back to your lipstick and pretend nobody knows anything about anything when you realize she’s not coming out, and wait, is she talking to someone? Is there another person in there with-

The door swings open out of Candela’s grasp and Aurora wobbles forward to the sinks. In the mirror, you watch Candela try to grab her, miss, and silently swear. Aurora’s washing her hands and you’re looking her over, then looking at Candela’s reflection as she emerges. Their makeup is smudged to hell and Aurora normally holds her booze better than this, so why would she be so wobbly-

_Oh._

Not grinning is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, and you try to wrap up your lipstick without getting it on your teeth. You expect one or both of them will thank you later.

“Um, me and Spark are heading home now, but let’s go for brunch later this week, yeah?”  
“Oh, yeah, let’s do that. Thing. Brunch.”  
“Have a good night~”  
“Bye.”

You meet Spark upstairs and issue the rest of your farewells to the tune of a few more shots before both of you head downstairs to get your coats. Spark looks antsy and you keep mum until you’re out of the building and heading towards the corner to get a cab. The snow was still coming down hard, but the wind had died down.

“What took so long?"  
“Sorry, but I have good news for you.”  
“Yeah?”  
“You don’t have to worry about Candela.”  
“Was she a present-day concern?”  
“No, but I have a feeling she’s over me.”  
“How do you know that?”  
“After I got to the mirrors, guess who walked out behind me?”  
“Candela?”  
“Aurora. Followed by Candela. Same stall.”

You both share a giggle at that and he shakes his head. He grabs your hand as a cab pulls up and you hustle to get out of the cold.

“Do you think they heard anything? Did you say anything?”  
“I said absolutely nothing, and they said nothing, and we all just pretended nothing at all happened.”  
“That had to be so awkward.”  
“Awkward moment of the century.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holler if you like what you're reading. Yes, I write for myself, but I share it for you, readers, and since AO3's stats are trash, I have no way of knowing if actual humans came here to read or if my hit count is largely mistaken clicks or bots. :( Let me know you're really real, won't you? 
> 
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	8. Intrigue is such a shallow word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all nudity  
> sex  
> a bit of violence  
> talking about kinks  
> and Spark being one _smooth_ motherfucker. 
> 
> (This is technically still part of chapter 7. Just... later.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

The ride home was a blur of necking and petting, and as you stumble out of the car, the driver comments after Spark:

“One nighter, huh?”

You laugh and grab Spark’s free hand as he shuts the door.

“We live together.”

The driver raises his eyebrows and cocks a grin.

“Y’don’t say? I’d love a tip on how to keep an old love anything fresh as yours.”  
“Date your roommate.”

Climbing the stairs could have gone faster if you hadn’t paused to rub against each other on the landing, kissing like the world was about to end. It was late enough that none of your neighbours were liable to be awake.

The door shuts with a hard thump of your back against it and Spark’s body against yours. He moans against your mouth, shedding his coat as your hands reach between you to undo his pants. He makes a grab for your coat next, removing your hands from their task and your lips from his. When you’re free of that, he flips you around, a hand pressed between your shoulders, and you hear a familiar crinkle somewhere on the floor. He pulls your skirt up with one hand and the other reaches down to set your legs further apart. The feel of his leather glove along the inside of your thigh sends a hot jolt between your legs and you can’t help moaning. You can feel him lining up, but the sensation of the leather stands out luridly, and since when did you have a leather fetish?

Since about nine seconds ago when he rubbed that leather glove on your thigh.  
Note to self: need more of this.  
Agreed.

Spark takes you right there against the unlocked door. His movements are hard and deliberate, and you’re grateful for the earlier sex that got you warmed up. You’re in no danger of any serious pain, though you’re pretty sure that rough bike ride feeling is going to be doubled by morning. Your hand slips on the surface of the door and his gloved hand catches you, pins your hand higher and holds tight. His uncovered hand lets go of your hip to comb fingers into your hair and slowly tighten into a fist. At first, you try to accommodate it, tilting your head further back, giving him room to kiss and bite your throat. When he said he liked it rough, you figured it was an excuse for his overall strength. Just how rough was rough?

“Tilt your hips back.”

The growl in his voice feels like hot syrup down your spine, and you shiver and obey. Until now your vocalizations had been nothing but sharp breaths in varying tempos; he wasn’t hurting you, but there wasn’t enough going on to get you panting and moaning either. Until the change of angle and his own shift in weight finds exactly what you needed. Your fingers curl, nails digging into the paint, and every measured thrust lifts your heels and earns a cry. The arch of your back and your chest pressed against the door is bordering on uncomfortable, but the tingling pull on your scalp somehow compliments the pleasure between your thighs. You can’t reach down to touch yourself, not without face-planting into the door. It’s almost frustrating. Almost like he’s messing with you, and the moment you think it, you know you’re right.

Spark’s teeth graze the tender underside of your jaw and you feel him grunt and stutter and still. Lovely. That’s two orgasms now you’ve been on the brink of and missed. His grip on your hair loosens up and he lets you adjust your weight into a more natural pose.

“Babe, are you pissed?”  
“Mm?”

Maybe too soon to expect words from him. You bite your lip; the husky growl tinting his voice is just too much. You drop your free hand and lean your forehead against the door and his arm half covering yours. Your fingers know exactly where to go, and in no time you’re whimpering.

“Fine,” he admits, “I’m jealous.”  
“Ah? About Candela?”

You can’t tell if the sound he makes in reply is aroused or irritated. Oh, right. Probably not the best idea to say –moan- her name while getting yourself off. Still, your imagination is a traitor, and offers up the visual of Spark and her sharing you, and that gets your knees trembling.

“I hate seeing other people touch you.”

Spark shifts his hips just enough to give you a little boost of friction and your breathing picks up a sharper edge to it.

“Not going anywhere, promise.”

The thought of him inside you while she devours your mouth and strokes your body, strokes fingers where yours are right now, gets your hips twitching and an inarticulate cry punctuates your completion. Gasping, you can still taste her perfume on the back of your tongue and presently, the more masculine smell of sex and Spark’s body against you. He kisses your bare shoulder.

“You ok if I pull out?”  
“Mm.”

As Spark slips out of you and deals with the condom, you bite your lip and conclude that a jealous Spark made for great sex. Better than chocolate, sex.

Still, you know _why_ he’s jealous.  
I’ll apologize when I can make good words again.  
See if you can’t keep that glove though.  
How rough is rough? I mean, hair pulling?  
Ask.  
I’m a bit afraid to hear the answer.  
Might be in your favor. C’mon, don’t be chicken.

You twist the lock on the door and try moving the rest of your body. Your balance isn’t as bad as you anticipated. You pull your skirt down again, for whatever it’s worth. You brace your back against the door and mentally prepare yourself for the effort of removing your boots. Your back doesn’t like this. In fact, the rest of your body doesn’t like this, but for opposing reasons –mainly centering around the fact that you should be having more sex.

“Fucking wet spell,” you mutter, holding the door frame with one hand and trying to bend over to reach your boots. The successive thuds of Spark’s own boots removed so quick makes you feel like you’re holding up the line.

“Hang on, let me help.”  
“Thanks. Back hurts.”  
“Is that all?”  
“So far. Probably going to have zero fun sitting tomorrow.”

Spark kneels and makes undoing your boots look easy. Showoff.

“Eh. Sitting is overrated.”  
“Um, I know you said you like it rough, but… was this about being jealous, or…?”  
“Bit of both?”  
“I need to ask. How rough?”  
“How much rougher can I get?”  
“Yes.”  
“I could do more, if you’ll let me. You were ok with this, right?”  
“More like what? I like surprises but not like this. Just tell me.”  
“Answer me first.”  
“I… yeah, I guess. The hair pulling caught me off guard. The glove, though…”  
“What glove?”  
“You had on one of your gloves. Leather. You didn’t notice, did you?”  
“Oh, no, I didn’t. Did it bother you?”  
“In a really good way.”

Spark looks up at you, cheek against your thigh, and raises a brow.

“Oh, really, now?”

Your face feels hot and you manage a faint nod. You’re uncomfortably aware of the wetness between your legs and short of crossing your legs and preventing Spark from getting your boots off, there’s not much you can do about it. You bite your lip and find it hard to meet his gaze. You’re equal parts embarrassed and ashamed, but it’s been said and there are no take-backsies.

“Was it because I was wearing the gloves, or was it the leather?”  
“Not sure. N-never mind, it’s stupid.”  
“It’s not stupid. Do I look bothered?”

You shake your head slightly.

“Close your eyes.”

You don’t question it, you just do it. Something touches the inside of your thigh and you can feel Spark’s naked hand on the outside of your thigh to know the difference. The foreign thing feels familiar, and it takes another moment for your brain to catch up. Spark’s not doing anything overt or reaching into dangerous territory. If you could ignore the dialogue, you could easily misconstrue it as a casual, affectionate caress, nothing more.

Remember when you first met? You were freaked out that he might have weird habits.  
Joke’s on me, I guess.  
Wish he’d put that glove back on and reach a little higher.  
Oh, my god, please…

The leather stroking the inside of your thigh makes your lower belly clench and breath catch. It’s new and unexpected, and you never thought you’d be the one with a weird kink. Spark hears the change in your breathing and softly laughs.

“It’s the leather.”

You open your eyes and realize he’s been staring at you the whole time, the palm of his glove held against your skin.

“Oh. It, um, f-feels really nice.”  
“I’ll bet it does. Guess I’ll buy new gloves just for you.”  
“This is so embarrassing…”  
“Baby, we fucked in a public bathroom. This is nothing.”  
“You’re not creeped out or anything?”  
“Of you discovering a kink? No, it’s cute.”

Spark’s grin shows no sign of mockery or judgment, just harmless amusement. He tosses the glove in the general direction of your coats.

“Anything else you want to share?”  
“Tell me what to expect.”  
“I get bitey when I’m horny.”  
“So I’ve noticed.”  
“Hair pulling. Grabbing and pinning. Scratching.”  
“Grabbing and pinning?”  
“Pinning you down, making you scream.”

He kisses your thigh, tugging your skin lightly between his teeth as he draws back. You swallow hard. You’d experienced that much, but something about hearing him actually say it out loud makes it sound like there’s a lot more where that came from. He pulls off one of your boots now undone.

“I have a strong grip, so you might end up with bruises, even if you don’t feel it right away.”  
“I don’t bruise easily. I mean, except when you bite really hard. Do you ever bite harder than that time?”  
“I won’t break the skin. And if you want me to stop, you only have to say so.”  
“Right. Ok.”  
“Would it bother you if I touched your neck?”  
“You kiss my neck all the time.”  
“I mean with my hands. I’m not into choking, that’s way outside my comfort zone, but like, just a slight bit of pressure can really get you off.”  
“Um, I dunno… I mean, I’m sure you know what you’re doing, I just…”  
“Is that a hard no, or do you want to revisit this later?”  
“Later? Yeah. Let me work through the other stuff first, I think.”  
“This is new for you, isn’t it?”

You nod your head and feel your face get hot again. If someone had told you before you’d met him –before you started lusting after his body and falling for him- that he’d be slamming you into your door and talking about choking you and pulling your hair, you’d have never let him sign the lease. A sudden thought dumps cold water down your spine and suddenly you’re back in the alley with that man behind you, grabbing your clothes and pressing a knife into your face shoved against the bricks. Your breathing hitches and you look away, a hand covering your mouth. You try to think of anything neutral and harmless.

“What is it? Baby, look at me. What are you thinking?”

Spark reaches for your hand and you close your fingers around his.

“I’m here, talk to me. Why are you shutting down?”  
“T-the alley. That guy grabbed me and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see you. He had a knife against my f-face and I thought he was going to-”  
“He didn’t. You’re safe. You’re with me, at home. Look at me.”

His thumb caresses your hand when you open your eyes again and meet his. And you’re reminded that he beat the shit out of all three attackers that night, that he hurt himself for you, that he’s right here, kneeling at your feet. You sniffle back the tears you didn’t know were building and concentrate on the rhythmic stroking of your hand. Your heartbeat begins to feel calmer. Spark moves your hand forward and kisses the back of your wrist.

“I won’t ever put you in that kind of situation. I’m not going to do anything you don’t like, and if you want to try something and change your mind, that’s ok, too. I won’t force you.”  
“It’s my fault for asking.”  
“I’m glad you’re responsible enough to ask. You have every right to know.”  
“I’ve never done anything like this. I know you better, but if I heard this right off the bat, I would have freaked.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t completely erase the concern on his face.

“Yeah, I get that. Do you usually ask your roommates if they plan to enact their kinks on you, though?”

That manages to get you weakly giggling.

“No, but maybe I should from now on.”  
“How ‘bout we take it slow. Like you said, it’s all ok until it’s not, and someone has to say so.”  
“Slow sounds good.”  
“Biting?”  
“That’s fine.”  
“Holding you down?”  
“Um… yeah.”  
“Is that a nervous ‘um, yeah?’”  
“It’s me being embarrassed about all this, and maybe I kind of really like that.”

Spark’s smile looks a mite predatory at that. You bashfully bite your lip and try not to grin.

“The more I question, the more she reveals. You are just a bag of curiosities.”  
“Do I intrigue you?”  
“Intrigue is such a shallow word.”  
“Anything not satisfying you, then?”  
“Not to humblebrag, but I have stamina. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not satisfying me.”  
“Humblebrag away, you earned it. I was thinking of hitting the gym come the new year, anyway. You’ll be my motivation.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah, it would be nice to keep up with you. Don’t pretend you don’t like seeing me totally wrecked.”  
“It’s totally an ego boost. Just don’t go trying to lose anything.”  
“That ship sailed long ago. I wouldn’t take my virginity back if anyone did find it.”  
“I _mean_ this fine ass.”

He reaches under your skirt to squeeze your apparently fine ass and kisses just under the hemline of your skirt. It gets you giggling, that airheaded-sounding giggle of a woman flirting with someone she likes.

“How do you feel about everything so far?”  
“A little scared, a little nervous, a little excited.”

His hand descends along the back of your thigh, fingers idly caressing. It’s a tad distracting.

“You’ve been ok with everything we’ve done so far.”  
“I have.”  
“But not a fan of the hair pulling.”  
“I thought maybe you were pissed off about Candela. But if you say it’s normal for you, then I can give it another shot.”  
“No, baby, come on… I wouldn’t hurt you out of malice. Did I hurt you?”  
“It hurt a little, but it kind of felt good? I wasn’t aware of the context, I guess.”  
“Ok. And me behind you?”  
“I trust you.”

It’s awfully close to what you really want to say and for a moment you both freeze, each of you rehashing the statement to be sure of what it was. Your eyes meet and you’re equally afraid and expectant that he’ll say it first. But then his hand continues teasing the back of your knee and the moment is over and gone.

“Have I mentioned that I’m glad you’re open-minded? I mean, what are the chances?”  
“Maybe something happened in that café we don’t even know about.”  
“Maybe. You know I don’t mean to hurt you.”  
“No, I get it. There’s a little bit of pain, and then there’s _pain_. There’s thrill, and there’s real fear.”  
“All I want is to make you feel good at the end of it all.”  
“And I’m willing to try stuff if it makes you feel good.”  
“It goes both ways, you know. If you want to.”

Your heart feels like it just tripped on its own feet and face-planted on the floor. At first, you’re not sure how to make your mouth move, and your brain feels like it’s keysmashing, hoping to generate some combination of sounds that might be actual words. Finally you manage:

“There’s no way I could pin you down, heh.”

He smirks and shrugs.

“You would want me to scratch, and bite, and pull your hair?”  
“Mm-hm.”  
“You really are an animal in bed.”  
“You like it.”  
“And leather, apparently.”

He grins at that. You blush and cover your face, giggling.

“So, your room or mine?”  
“Yes.”  
“Mine, then.”

Your other boot comes off and he scoops you up off your feet. Every time he does it, it’s thrilling, and you think about telling him that. Maybe later. Enough embarrassing confessions had been aired tonight. Save some for later.

The plush throw at the foot of his bed feels delightful against your bare legs when he sets you down. He detours to pull it up the bed, and you cooperatively scoot over to let him get the other end. Clever boy. Washing and drying a feather duvet would take forever. You think about getting a throw for your own bed. Once settled, you start undoing your clothes, starting with your halter. Spark tosses his shirt and then fishes your panties out of his pocket.

“If this was a fling, I hope you know you wouldn’t get these back.”  
“Ah, the perks of a committed relationship,” you sigh. “I get to keep my panties, what a relief.”  
“Do you often forfeit your panties?”  
“You would technically be a first.”  
“And yet you got my cherry.”  
“Tonight had a lot of firsts.”

You toss your halter at him and laugh when it lands on his head. Spark shakes it off, halfway out of those tight, varnished jeans. He gives you a warning look.

“Keep it up, missy.”  
“Missy, huh?”

You recline on your elbows, watching him undress. The jeans alone were nice, but hugging those long legs and firm ass…

“You’d look good in a skirt.”

He snickers and shakes his head, kicking the jeans away and running a thumb just inside the waistband of his boxer-briefs. You fall back into the plush fabric under you and stretch out, groaning as your body releases its tension. Something in your back pops and the earlier ache vanishes.

“This feels so good, all cuddly and soft, mmm~”  
“What was that about your skirt?”  
“You want it? Come take it. I’m too busy having an affair with your bed.”

A shutter sound makes you freeze and glance around. Spark’s grinning, leaning a knee against the edge of the bed for stability, his holocaster in hand.

“Eh?”  
“Now _this_ is centerfold material.”  
“SPARK!?”

In a flash, you’re upright and grabbing his holocaster. On the screen is an overhead shot of you happily luxuriating in the cushy throw, hair splashed out, topless, and the angle of your legs leaving no question as to your underwear.

Wow, do my tits really look that good? And my waist? My waist is that small?!  
DELETE IT NOW.  
He’s not going to blackmail me, I know where he lives. Damn, I look sexy.  
DELETE.  
Freshly fucked kinda sexy. I look really pretty… in a Playboy kind of way. Hmm.  
WHAT IF HIS PHONE GETS STOLEN AGAIN?

“Don’t delete it,” Spark laughs, trying to grab the gadget out of your hands. “You look so hot, leave it.”  
“But what if your phone gets hacked or stolen?”  
“They set up some cloud backup thing when I got the new one. C’mon, don’t delete it.”  
“If this gets seen by even _one_ other person…”  
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You narrow your eyes and purse your lips, staring him down. He smiles angelically. You sigh and hope you don’t have to regret this. His holocaster is handed over and you flop back onto the bed.

“Thank you.”  
“Mm-hm. At least it’s a nice shot.”  
“Having fun down there?”

He leans a hand on the bed against your far side, sort of caging you in. You stretch again, making involuntary squeaky sounds and figure your smile is enough of an answer. Spark ducks down and you foolishly assume he means to kiss your bared belly. The raspberry instead makes you shriek and curl up in defense.

“GYAH SPARK NO BAD STOP-”

The next assault dissolves you into helpless, shrill laughter, kicking feet, and trying to yank him away by the hair. He relents and you can feel him laughing against you.

“Oh, you little shit, that was so uncalled for.”  
“It absolutely was.”  
“Was not.”  
“You lying there, flaunting your body at me? Come on.” He kisses your belly and sits up. “Couldn’t resist such temptation.”  
“And you wonder where Boomer gets it from.”

You snag a finger on his waistband and tug.

“Off.”  
“Fine. Undo your skirt.”

You concede to this agreement and feel around for the zipper. With all your previous activities, it’s gotten halfway turned around and the rear zip is now nearly on your hip. Spark drops his underwear on your chest and takes hold of the hem of your skirt to tug it off; you slingshot his shorts over his head into the wall.

“Before you get me all blitzed, I just want to say I’m sorry about tonight.”  
“Sorry for what? Meeting your ex?”  
“Well, yeah.”  
“Nobody expects to run into their ex. Don’t worry about it.”  
“I shouldn’t have teased you for being jealous about her, it was a low blow.”  
“Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

Confused, you give him a look and open your mouth to question him when the situation becomes obvious. He’s holding your liberated skirt, sitting on the edge of the bed between your splayed legs. You face-palm and snicker.

“You know what I mean.”  
“I’m just screwing with you. Apology accepted.”  
“Oh! And you want to nitpick _my_ choice of words?”  
“But I am.”

You try to think of some witty retort, but Spark’s head between your thighs is your kryptonite and the suddenness is enough to startle you silent. Mostly. Your mood and nerves are confused, and at first all you can do is giggle, giddy and just sensitive enough to make everything feel pleasantly ticklish. You hope all your future arguments end similarly.

Spark pushes your legs up, one held down in his grip, the other braced against his shoulder, and your giggles quickly become breathy whimpers. You reach down, threading fingers into his hair and let your nails lightly scratch along his scalp. He moans and the vibration of his voice sends a shudder of pleasure through your body. Your back arches and you moan louder. Your fingers tighten and your other hand caresses your body from ribs to throat and down again, fondling a breast.

“Don’t stop, please, I’m close.”

You’d be grinding your hips into his face if your feet could give you any leverage. He’s got you exactly where he wants you, how he wants you, and all you can do is pull his hair, push his head closer. His fingers join the party between your legs. Two penetrate you in tandem with him sucking on your clit and your hand tightens in his hair, your body feeling tighter and tighter and ready to snap. Your hand leaves your chest to grab a handful of the throw as his fingers touch you just right, turning your moans into quickened, breathy whimpers. And then it’s finally enough and you’re sobbing and clenching around his fingers, and you’re just relieved to let go of some of the tension that’s been riding you all night.

Somewhere in the midst of your pleasure, you feel a sharp, hot pressure on your thigh, and even that contributes to your twitching. Your hands slack their grip and you reach up to rake fingers through your own hair, everything feeling warm and fuzzy around the edges. Spark lets your legs down and kisses your waist, stroking a flank and coaxing you back into the present.

“How’s your back?”

You chuckle and hold out a hand. He slaps it and smiles.

“Five by five.”  
“I see you enjoy having your hands in my hair.”  
“You like it.”  
“True.”  
“Got any more condoms?”

Spark’s smile becomes a teasing smirk.

“Still not tired?”  
“Sugary drinks are my bonus life.”  
“I think that means no.” He leans over you to peck you and chuckles. “Be right back.”

You know you’re going to be so fucking hungover tomorrow when the dehydration kicks in.  
That’s future-me’s problem.  
Don’t you dare go to sleep without water and painkill- Oh. Even when he leaves, he’s beautiful.  
Really glad he’s not too mad about Candy.  
Any chance you could have them make nice? And then make nice on you?  
You insatiable slut. Let’s get through that brunch date first. I don’t think Spark would play nice with other kids.  
He barely plays nice with you.  
He’s a perfect gentleman!  
Pretty sure he bit the hell out of your thigh.  
Pretty sure I don’t care.  
Your flashback sequence would indicate otherwise.  
Apples and oranges. Now shut up, I’ve got dick to suck.

Spark returns from digging through his dresser across the room and drops an entire string of condoms beside you. You roll your eyes and snicker. He rejoins you on the bed and before he can get comfortable, you shove him over onto his back and climb over him. He combs back your hair as you kiss. It’s weirdly arousing to taste yourself in his mouth. Your hand caresses his chest, coming to a pause on a nipple. He flinches a little when you tease your fingertip over it, and you grin.

“Ticklish?”  
“No comment.”

You already know the answer, so it’s moot to chase his bait. You continue kissing down his throat, grazing your teeth over Adam’s apple. Scratching and hair pulling were easy enough, but biting –biting as hard as he dared bite you, anyway- was going to take nerve and practice, and possibly some jaw exercises. Your fingers close around his nipple and give a tug, and Spark arches and groans, his fingers in your hair tightening just enough to tell you to continue without yanking. You move lower and put your mouth on his other nipple, listening to his breathing pick up at the contrasting pain-pleasure sensations. You indulge in a little moan of your own, enjoying his enjoyment.

And then you switch it up, smoothing the flat of your hand over his chest and closing your teeth around the nipple in your mouth. The grip on the back of your head pulls you closer; good, he likes it. Another lick and then your teeth grip tighter and give a little tug, and that gets you a sharper sound that startles you and makes you pause and look up.

“Sorry! Did I hurt you?”  
“N-no, s’perfect.”

Spark laughs a little and you anxiously study him for a moment more to be sure he’s not bullshitting you.

Oookay, so that only mildly scared the crap out of me. Working on my technique is only half the battle. I don’t know _his_ tells, either.  
It wasn’t a complete fail, just keep going.  
I’m not sure I like this biting business. I’m scared of hurting him.  
Ask if you can bite him later when you’re both paying better attention and he can make words.  
That’s so crazy it might just work.  
You’re welcome.

You kiss both nipples and move on down. His belly was a prime weak spot, but there was a point when arousal beat ticklishness, and you figured you were past that if the way he was reacting was any indication. True enough, he doesn’t even flinch as you kiss his abs and reach lower to spread his legs. A nip to his waist makes him squirm, arching a little closer like he wants it again. You claw your nails into his thighs, hoping it’ll be enough to hold him down, and bite again, harder than before. Spark moans and tenses under you and you can feel his nails digging into your scalp. It’s a good sort of pain, scattering shivers down your spine. When you let him go, he’s a little slow to reciprocate, but his shuddering breaths affirm you’d done good.

He’s already becoming hard just from that little bit of violent foreplay, but from here on you intend to be gentle. You take him into your mouth without any lead-up, getting him all wet before letting go to smooth back the foreskin and lick the naked head. Through luck of the draw, most guys you’d been with were circumcised, and though you didn’t put much stock in women’s sex columns, they were actually right about unsnipped guys being more sensitive. You didn’t have to look up to see if Spark was enjoying this; his vocalizations were proof enough.

Trailing your tongue down the underside, you cup his testicles in one hand, your other busy lightly jerking him. The hand in your hair pushes you closer when you playfully lip at the velvety sacs. When you take one into your mouth, his groan and the slight bite of his nails causes you to moan in return. Your thighs press tighter together and you shift your hips, trying to ease the tension building and only making it worse. A few more licks and you’re back to the good old-fashioned blowjob and reaching to grab the garland of foil packets.

Sitting up to take the weight off your elbows and rip the packaging, you think about sensitivities and what benefits a guy gets from keeping his foreskin. There was certainly a lot more wiggle room, but were condoms unpleasant on that little bit of extra? It was unnervingly early to go without, but maybe in another month…? Rolling the latex on, you feel a giddy twinge between your legs as you wonder what riding Spark bare would feel like.

Straddling his waist, you smile and kiss him. His hands settle on your thighs.

“Everything ok?”  
“Everything’s awesome.”  
“Did anything hurt?”  
“Not in a bad way.”  
“Ok, good.”  
“That’s my brave girl.”

You sit up and balance on your knees to get him angled just so. Being on top means gravity is working against you, making you feel tighter and less prepared for this than you are, but you still take it slow. Spark cups a hand on your rear to steady you, giving a contented sigh as he slides home inside you. You settle into a rhythm, hands on his chest for balance and hips rocking, seeking their own pleasure.

Spark sets his hands on the crease of your thighs, so similar to the way he held you at the club. His grip is strong and supportive, but he’s letting you take the lead and your pleasure at your own pace. You lick your lips and reach between your thighs to stroke yourself, eyes falling shut, and your imagination elbows you and reminds you of your silly little fantasy, and hey, doesn’t all this look familiar? You moan, and Spark twitches inside you and it makes you smile a little. When you open your eyes again, the fantasy fogs and fades away, and you’re still living it, and Spark is moaning softly under you, his fingers digging slightly into your flanks, his hips twitching with the desire to move.

Your own pleasure-drunk gaze meets his and an electric thrill makes your insides shiver and clench. Spark sits up, bracing himself with a hand on the bed behind him. He puts his lips to your breast and you comb your fingers into his hair, kissing his temple. His free hand caresses your back, holding you nearer, and the light scrape of his nails makes you jerk and moan. You’re grateful for your inability to form words, because the ones on the tip of your tongue are clamoring to get free.

Spark kisses up your chest and throat and takes you down with him back onto the bed, rolling your bodies over. Your legs wrap around his back and you moan into his mouth when he kisses you and continues at your established pace. One arm wraps around his back, the other lightly clawed into his hair. There’s something else happening here that’s better than trying to get yourself off and you want to hold him against you for as long as it might last, like the most fragile of magic spells.

You’re panting when you break for air and he reaches down to pull your hips, and the next thrust gets you whimpering. You’re torn between succumbing to the pleasure, and keeping your gaze connected. A hint of a smile quirks his lips and he thrusts a little harder, groaning in time with your sharper cries. He licks your lips, tugging your lower lip with his teeth, his breathing hot and fast. Your nails slip and run down the back of his neck and he growls, arching into it. He’s a wild animal in human skin, his gaze locked on yours like an unspoken challenge, like he’s going to devour you as soon as he’s done fucking you. It’s a tad frightening, and yet so erotic. It’s better than any fantasy you could have cooked up.

You lose the challenge first, but he’s quick on your heels, and then you’re just a pair of sweaty bodies breathing hard, clinging to each other. Your pulse makes your whole body tremble long after he stills. Spark caresses your thigh and kisses your neck, sighing with a hint of a happy whine. You stroke his hair and kiss his shoulder.

“So, that was intense.”  
“Mm…”

You don’t trust your mouth with proper vocabulary yet, but he doesn’t seem to mind your response. You close your eyes and nuzzle against the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of your bodies and feeling his pulse pattering. You wouldn’t mind staying like this forever.

Your stomach growls.

“Was that you?”

You sigh.

“Yeah.”  
“Hungry?”  
“Apparently.”

The sheer humanity of it makes you both erupt in a fit of giggles and Spark kisses you briefly before pulling out and tossing the condom.

“C’mon, quick shower and then we’ll raid the fridge. Kinda hungry myself.”  
“Mmkay, let me go first.”  
“Thought we’d go together, save time and hot water.”

Damn if the way he says that doesn’t sound like a kicked puppy. You sheepishly grin back.

“Sure, but I need to pee.”  
“Oh.”

You hustle into the bathroom, hoping you don’t dribble along the way. Seated on the toilet, you cover your mouth to muffle your giggles, part of you currently dying of embarrassment, and the rest staggering drunk on sex and more affection than you know what to properly do with. Again, you’re over-sensitized and too tired to do anything about it.

Is this going to happen every time?  
Maybe it’s just the wet spell being, y’know, wet?  
Weird.  
But the sex is incredible.  
What if that’s why you’re sensitive?  
Beeeecause I’ve never had good sex? I can think of a few people who would take offense to that.  
Sex is sex. Good sex plus that love connection is a whole ‘nother universe.

You flush and put your hair up, then get the shower running. And then freeze, wide-eyed.

Oh, my god. I almost said it.  
You sure almost did.  
I CAN’T SAY IT.  
Bet you $20 Spark will say it first.  
Make it $40- WAIT NO.  
No? You don’t want him to?

You grab your makeup wipes and open the bathroom door to call your boyfriend in. There’s not much left on your face to clean off, but you weren’t a fan of raccoon eyes.

I… I don’t know.  
But you want to, clearly. So just do it.  
I can’t. What if it fucks everything up?  
Why are you thinking about Candy?  
You know why!  
Spark’s not her. In fact, that would be a ginormous reason why you’re still with him.  
Oh, god, I can’t…  
It’s like ripping off a bandaid.  
I’d rather choke on it.  
What if Spark does say it first? You still gonna choke?

“Got you clothes,” Spark shuts the door and kisses the nape of your neck as he passes by, setting your pajamas on the counter. “It’s so cute how the boys are all cuddled up on your bed.”  
“Oh, thanks. Now that you mention it, it’s kinda funny that they’re always hiding when we, uh…”  
“Have sex?”  
“Yeah. Do you have them trained to give you alone time?”  
“Nah, they kinda just smell it. Like, most pokemon view their trainer as their alpha.”  
“And nobody interrupts the alpha when he’s busy mating. Gotcha.”  
“You’re sexy when you get all National Geographic.”

You snicker and pluck out a fresh wipe before putting the packet away.

“C’mere, you’re in need of some social grooming. You’re wearing half my lipstick.”

You hold his chin and wipe most of his face, throat, and upper chest. The side of his neck has a pair of dark pink crescents where you bit him in the bathroom at the club.

“Ooh, looks like I got you pretty good. Does it hurt?”

Spark checks it in the mirror and shrugs.

“I’ll wear it with pride.”  
“So, if you’re the alpha, what does that make me in the pecking order?”  
“Hmm… alpha female? Boomer already thinks of you as mommy.”  
“Bo doesn’t seem to think of anybody as his alpha.”  
“Naw, you are. I’m just the fun pack-mate.”  
“Yeah, you are a fun pack-mate.”

You peck his lips and head into the shower with a giggle. You manage to clean up without instigating anything, and Spark wheedles you into letting your hair down to wash it properly since you’ll both be lazy as sin tomorrow. Your grumbling about having to blowdry it peters off when he works his hands into the lather and helps you scrub, rinse, and condition. Once dried off, dressed, and with your hair up in a towel, you follow Spark to the kitchen to get a couple of glasses of water. Spark makes a sound like “aha!” and pops something in the microwave. You grab the bottle of painkillers out of the cupboard and swallow two with a few gulps of water.

“What did you find?”  
“You’ll see.”  
“Kay. Water? Did you have fun tonight?”  
“Thanks. Yeah, I did. It was really nice to get all our friends together.”  
“Saw Cane making out pretty heavy with his new girlfriend.”  
“Rebound.”

Spark punctuates that with air quotations and you both snicker.

“Uh-huh, sure. Rebound. He seems really nice. Hope this one’s a winner.”  
“Same. She seems a little more stable than the last girl. Maybe that’ll help things.”  
“Financially?”  
“Emotionally.”  
“Aha.”  
“Poor Bliz, though. Is Rose mad at him or something?”  
“Mmno? She just gets stressed out about stuff and goes into survival mode. Anything nonessential gets shoved on the back-burner.”  
“Yeesh, what does she do that makes her so stressed?”  
“Blogger, vlogger, fashion design, freelance writing. I don’t know what’s got up her butt this time around, but I think it ended yesterday.”  
“Good. No wonder you nearly threw him out.”

You laugh. The microwave beeps and Spark fetches your mystery food. You refill your glasses.

“Better let it sit a few minutes.”  
“What- Are those pizza pockets?”  
“Yup.”  
“Babe, I know you’re about as fat as a toothpick, but this stuff is such garbage.”  
“A little garbage never hurt anyone.”  
“Man, wish I was better at cooking…”  
“Would you be cooking right now? It’s like four AM.”  
“Maybe not _right_ now. You know what? Since we’re home, I’m gonna try out some of the recipes I’ve saved. We need to go grocery shopping.”  
“Woah, that sounds so domestic. Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?”  
“Well, we can’t live on just your pancakes and bacon forever.”  
“I can make pasta.”  
“And I can also make eggs. And that’s about it.”  
“…Right. Ok, groceries it is. But until then…”

Spark holds out a pizza topping-stuffed lump of dough. You sigh and take a bite, only because your stomach is begging for anything.

“Ok, that’s really good. I hate you.”  
“Mwahaha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This inspired the glove situation.](http://www.surfacage.net/post/152641544609/however-it-goes-hes-really-fucking-terrifying) I wash my hands of responsibility for what came of it.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	9. Your currently sorry ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A well-meaning brunch date ends in violence and tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to know what they talk about while shopping? Go read [Leather Gloves](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11058741?style=creator) before continuing! 
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

Standing in the gym’s open battlefield with an arm outstretched, you steady your shoulder as a fledgling slows to perch ungracefully on your forearm. Dusty’s chicks were growing up so fast –already beginning to fly. It was tempting to pet them when they came to land on you, but Spark had cautioned that it might distract them.

“That was a tough landing, huh? Steady now, get your bearings.”

The pidgey chirps and wobbles as she turns around to prepare for another takeoff back to Spark at the other end of the field. It was unfortunate timing that they’d hatched so near to the end of the year, when it was too cold for frail young birds to fly outdoors. The best Spark could give them was the gym’s lofty confines. You brace yourself for the kick of her legs and off she goes. She had the most elegant take-offs of the brood. You couldn’t wait to see the whole family wheeling about in the open springtime sky.

Spark catches the fledgling and gives her beak a kiss.

“Good fly. Enjoy your bath, little one.”

He points her to the pool and lets her take off to join her siblings wading in the shallows, singing and splashing. Dusty had already had her fun rolling about in the water and had spent the practice session preening her damp feathers, no doubt happy to have some personal time while her chicks were occupied. Spark begins crossing towards you and waves broadly, as if you’re a whole kilometer away. You wave back and cup your hands around your mouth.

“Hey, there, fellow perch!”  
“Hello out there!”  
“Ready to shop?”  
“I was born ready. Bring it on.”

You drop the act as the distance between you whittles away.

“Don’t you need to move them back upstairs?”  
“Yeah, but I’ll stop in again for Dusty. She hasn’t had a good workout for days.”  
“Will the babies be alright without her?”  
“You wanna sit on the nest until I get back?”

Now that he’s in range, you smack his arm.

“They’ll be fine. They’re strong enough to keep warm, and a bit of alone time will be good for them. Right, Dusty? Let’s have a fly later?”

Dusty cheeps gleefully and glides down from the rafters to land on Spark, to your amazement. It’s not an easy landing, being that she’s about eighty pounds and her talons are as wide as his shoulders. Spark wobbles and stumbles as he catches them both and she’s making a bird-like sort of purr and nibbling at his hair. The gust of her wake catching up blows your hair back and you don’t realize your mouth is hanging open until you hear Spark speak and remember to shut it.

“Soon, princess. We’ll come back for you.”

He pats her toes and giggles as she continues to preen his hair.

“Stop, you’re tickling me!”

She trills and you think it sounds a bit like laughter. You cover your mouth and smile at the interaction. Just a grown boy and his oversized pokemon. Eventually she hops off with a flap and marches towards you, talons clicking on the floor. She bows and nuzzles her head against you. You reach up to stroke her crest.

“Hi there, momma. Want a scratch?”  
“Told you she was a suck-up.”  
“It’s fine. Go do what you need to do. I can keep her busy for a bit.”  
“Cool, thanks.”

Spark detours to peck you over his bird’s head and then heads to the pool with an armload of pokeballs to round up the pidgey. You turn your attention back to Dusty, working a hand underneath her crest to scratch at her nape as Spark had taught you. This was a spot most birds couldn’t reach themselves, so having a friend –bird or otherwise- indulge them was a real treat. Getting to stroke handfuls of feathers on a bird the size of a small car was a treat in itself, at least as far as you were concerned.

When Spark returns, he snaps a photo of Dusty nuzzling you and nibbling at your scarf in an attempt to reciprocate your kindness.

“Aww, look at my two favorite ladies getting snuggly.”  
“She really is a pussycat.”  
“You sound surprised. You don’t believe I know my own pokemon?”  
“Well, I mean, she’s a huge bird. Beak and claws the size of meat cleavers. Come on. Not all of us grew up with pokemon in the house, or went out to travel the wilds and catch them.”  
“Yeah, I forget you’re, what’s the term? A muggle?”  
“Ha. Ha. My dad’s a trainer.”  
“That so? Didn’t he teach you-?”  
“He wasn’t home much. Whatever, I’m cautious, ok? Even if she’s a good girl.”  
“My team would never hurt you, no matter how big or scary you think some of them are. Besides, you’ve turned her into feathered mush in your hands. I think you’re the dangerous one.”

True enough, Dusty was making that avian purring sound and had her eyes shut against your chest. Withdrawing your hand made her stumble and look about, bewildered. You and Spark share a chuckle at her expense. She fluffs her feathers and squawks indignantly. You’re sure she’d be blushing with embarrassment if birds could.

Stepping outside, you’re blinded by the unfiltered sunlight and cough as the dry air tickles your throat. It’s gotten colder since you arrived, but it’s nice to see the sun for a change. You dig your sunglasses out of your purse and watch Spark lock down the gym again before joining you. He takes your hand for the few blocks to the supermarket. It’s too cold to talk, and you don’t feel much like saying anything. You’re hungry and looking forward to an early night. You don’t pass many people on your walk. The streets aren’t barren, but there’s a distinct decrease in people out and about. Typical for a holiday. You sure wouldn’t mind leaving town for a hot beach.

“How do we do this?”  
“What, buy groceries? I have a list.”  
“Wow, you’re organized.”  
“You don’t come here often, huh?”  
“There’s a reason the gym has a cafeteria and chef.”  
“You mean that’s not a typical fixture at a pokemon gym?”  
“Not really.”

You grab a cart on your way into the store and give Spark a few items to pick out so you can get through your list quicker. Your thoughts are mostly on quantities, prices, and freshness, so when you turn around to place a few things in the shopping cart and see Spark with another girl, your mind goes temporarily blank.

She’s probably a trainer.  
Too old and well-dressed to be a trainer. Who does their hair that nice just to go buy food?  
Friend?  
Yeah, real friendly.  
Spark does have friends you probably haven’t met yet.  
Looks like she’d enjoy getting real friendly with their pants off.  
Really? Do we have to do this?

You glare at your holocaster and tap off the items you’ve secured. When you look up again, the girl is still there, smiling too much and gesturing at a display, though her gaze is all for Spark. It’s revolting –insincere and a little desperate, you think. Something inside you snarls venomously and wants to stomp over there and grab her by that glossy, dark mane and yank her away from what you have no trouble labeling as Yours. You take a breath and study some parsley as you count to ten. You’d like to bite the little hussy, and not at all in a kind way. Your lips twitch with the urge to bare your teeth.

You’re contemplating aggravated assault, you know that?  
Fuck off.

Movement turns your gaze with almost paranoid urgency. Spark’s backing up. He glances around, spots you, and waves. The girl’s gaze flicks over to you and her smile wavers. Afraid to move and cause a scene, you concentrate on holding perfectly still instead. Nobody ever got in trouble for not moving. Spark brushes her off with a nod and as he approaches, you can see the wry amusement on his face.

“Out-of-towner. Thought I worked here.”  
“Interesting.”  
“Fulfilled my mission. What’s next?”  
“You know she was flirting with you, right?”  
“Wait, are you mad at me?”  
“No.”  
“Frankly, I think you both have great taste. I’d hit on me, too.”

You groan a long-suffering sigh and look at your list, calming now that he’s near you again. His attempt at humor fizzles into tentative concern.

“Are you that jealous?”

You say nothing and set your jaw. Your inner critic cocks a hip and raises a brow; _Really? You’re pouting –a grown woman like you?_

“Should we find an abandoned aisle?”  
“And do what?”  
“Well, last time someone got jealous seemed to end pretty well.”

The corners of your mouth twitch. You want so bad to be irritated at the whole situation. You want to revel in your poutiness, contemplate evil things like setting that girl on fire, maybe. Just a little.

“Come on, I know you’re fighting that smile. Let it out.”  
“We need spinach.”  
“First, I need to see you smile. And kiss me.”  
“You got flirted with. Why am I paying the bill?”  
“Who said it’s a bill?”

He grabs your scarf and yanks you in to steal a kiss. You’re trapped between the cart, the display of vegetables, and Spark.

“Who have I been cuddling every night in my bed?”

His voice is low and tap-dancing the line between being comforting and sexy, and that offer to find an aisle is starting to sound less silly by the minute. A quick glance around confirms nobody’s too close to hear you if you’re quiet, though the little old lady at the next display sure seems keen on finding the best apples.

“Me.”  
“Who’s toes did I paint yesterday while she was konked out on the sofa?”

You snort and bite your lip.

“Mine.”  
“And who was in my office, gagged on the new gloves I-”  
“Shh!”  
“Come on, who was it?”

The sing-song of his words combined with the mischievous look in his eyes gets one part of you wanting to giggle and blush while the other wants to slam him into the potatoes and shove a hand down his pants and your tongue into his mouth.

“It was me. Now shush!”

A sharp wheeze nearby and you hazard a glance at the old gal apparently getting a load of your chat. She glances over her glasses, a tiny smile making her eyes crinkle. She winks and you swear you can hear her giggle. Spark turns your chin and reminds you to focus on him.

“Point is, you’re stuck with me. Let the rest flirt until they turn blue.”  
“You’re so romantic.”

You smile bashfully and claim another kiss.

“It’s kinda nice to know you’re jealous.”  
“Don’t think I won’t fish through your clothes for her number.”  
“Touché. Please, be my guest.”  
“They look nice, by the way.”  
“My clothes?”  
“My toes.”  
“Oh. You’re welcome.”

As you wrap up your business in the produce section and turn into the bakery, you lean closer to Spark.

“I think our conversation totally made that old lady’s day.”  
“Nothing like spreading the holiday cheer.”  
“Or eating leather.”  
“Hey, it’s grandma approved. Nothing wrong with it.”  
“You’re the worst,” you snicker, slapping his hand on the cart’s handlebar, and then caressing over the still-warm irritation your nails had left earlier that morning.

The tiff fizzles out and you continue shopping peacefully, talking only about what’s next on the list, until Spark blurts out:

“I just realized I never got the chance to hit on you.”  
“Well, that was random. Would you have?”  
“Given our circumstances? It probably would have taken me a while, and I’d have been cautious.”  
“Fair enough. Not like you walking around in nothing but a towel wasn’t advertising.”  
“And I’m supposed to pretend you have a bra on when you don’t? And it’s cold?”

You snort and cover your face.

“Or ignore your yoga pants. Or those tiny skirts.”  
“What’s wrong with my pants?”  
“Nothing at all. They’re a gift from god.”  
“Is that so?”  
“Let’s agree we were both being suggestive and call it even.”  
“Sure. Can you check in the next aisle if coffee’s on sale?”  
“Will do.”

Once done in the bakery, and still with no sign of Spark, you head to the aisle in question to see what’s the hold up. He’s standing back and staring at the wall of assorted coffee brands like a stressed-out art critic. He glances at you fleetingly and then again as you draw nearer. It almost makes you self-conscious. He chuckles as you come to a halt beside him.

“Hey, um, lotta choices here.”  
“There sure are.”  
“What do you recommend? Like, what’s a good one?”

You give him a look and step forward to pick out the coffee you always buy. He knows the canister well enough, you think with a little niggle of impatience; though if he doesn’t shop much, all the choices would be overwhelming at first glance.

“I always get this one. I’m no barista, but I think it’s pretty good. Better than that cheap Unovan stuff down that way, and not as expensive as the Kalosian espresso.”  
“You know quite a bit about coffee for someone who isn’t a barista.”  
“Yeah, well, you pick up a few things when you work in marketing.”  
“Marketing, huh? Do you market coffee, by any chance? Cause that would explain a few things.”

You snort, a little confused and becoming yet more impatient just from standing here.

“What are you going on about?”  
“Sorry, I’m rambling. Also, I’m Spark. Thanks for the coffee. Can you tell I don’t shop here much?”

You open your mouth and hesitate as the conversation quickly replays in your mind and suddenly you’re giggling and shaking your head.

“Yeah, it sure looks that way. Is that all you came for, or did your girlfriend hand you a list?”  
“Ah, that would be a negative. No girlfriend.”

He glances at your cart and raises a brow.

“Looks like you’ve got someone at home to feed, though. Lucky them.”  
“Having friends over for dinner.”  
“And could there maybe be a chance of you having a spare half hour to, I dunno, get a cup of coffee? Or tea, your choice.”  
“Are you asking me out? Here, like, in the supermarket?”  
“Well, I wasn’t going to outright call it a date, but if that’s what you’re into…”

The scene breaks as you both begin snickering and then outright laughing.

“Wow, ok, so I guess you can check that off your bucket list.”  
“C’mon, that was kinda fun.”  
“You had me really confused at first.”  
“You caught on pretty quick.”  
“You’re one smooth operator. I’d hate to see you unattached.”  
“Good thing I’m very attached.”  
“I like that you’re attached.”  
“I like being attached to you.”

And there goes your blush. The way Spark grins at that makes you bashfully grin.

“You are such a flirt. I think I liked you better when you were just half naked.”  
“That’s easily arranged.”  
“Coffee goes in the cart, silver-tongue. Let’s get a move on. Still gotta get this home and unpack.”

He smirks and sets the canister in the basket, then grabs the side of the cart to help you get its sticky wheels around the corner. As you walk, his hand on your back drops and gropes your rear, and you jump.

 

As you’re sipping your glass of water, your holocaster dances across the table and you lean closer to read the alert.

“That’s Ro. They’re at the door.”  
“You sound nervous for some reason.”

Spark, in contrast, looks cool as a staryu in a shady wave pool, and you realize that yes, you are nervous.

“Babe, I know I’m probably asking a lot, but please be nice?”  
“I’m here, aren’t I?”  
“I know you. You’re here to stand between us. Not that there’s anything there.”  
“Except me.”  
“Spark…”  
“We’re all just _friends_ having brunch.”  
“Oh, my god, please do not-”  
“Then let’s not. Ok?”

You sigh and give him an anxiety-ridden, pleading look as he sets his water down and meets your gaze with unflinching blankness.

He didn’t have to come.  
Would you let him go out alone with his ex?  
He is really not helping my nerves.  
Could he at least look a little pissed off? That poker face is making my stomach do flips for all the wrong reasons.  
This was such a mistake, I never should have said anything.  
And what? Sneaked behind his back instead? Like that would go over well.

His gaze shifts and he puts on a friendly smile that tells you Aurora’s approaching. You glance over your shoulder and push back your chair to greet her. Her thick black hair is pulled up in a ponytail, showing off her undercut that wants shaving and re-dying. Sort of reminds you of a scruffy pidgeotto. You both squeal like you haven’t seen each other in months and hug tightly, rambling off greetings. She smells like Candela’s shampoo.

The woman that has both you and Spark in knots appears through the crowded vestibule and follows Aurora’s steps to your table.

 _She looks like her flareon_ , you think, taking in her wine-red coat accented in some kind of voluminous tan fur around the collar and cuffs. Her gaze shifts from Aurora letting go to you and she smiles and holds arms open as she closes in. Behind you, you can hear Aurora greeting Spark and shedding her coat.

“What a good morning it is. How are you, sugar?”  
“Happy to see you. Thanks for joining us.”  
“Don’t be too happy or your man might get ideas.”  
“He knows.”  
“Atta girl!”

She pecks your cheek as she lets you go and you fight the urge to reciprocate the gesture. No sense encouraging her, or getting deeper under Spark’s skin. Her smile trips for a fraction of a second, and then it’s on full blast again as she turns you sideways to reach for Spark.

“Morning, blondie. Didn’t think I’d see you again.”  
“Guess that makes two of us. I don’t think we were properly introduced. I’m Spark, the boyfriend.”  
“Charming. Candela.”

You facepalm against her shoulder for lack of space.

“Ro, which seat is yours?”  
“Beside Spark, I guess? Did you wanna switch?”

Candela says no at the same time you say yes and then you glance at her and try to cover your slip with a laugh and excuse. You use the interruption to pry yourself free of Candela and take your seat, turning your attention to Aurora in an effort to avoid meeting Spark’s gaze. She’s unwrapping her scarf and her otherwise pale cheeks are flushed from the cold, making her freckles slightly less noticeable. You make small talk to catch up on the latest news, and repeatedly notice her gaze shifting to your left.

Oh, does she have it bad. Look at her grinning. She can barely go two sentences without staring.  
I am either a saint or the world’s biggest asshole.  
Hey, it’s not your fault Candy can’t let it go.  
It’s been, what, four days?  
Excuse you, but you wanted to bang Spark after like, four minutes.  
That’s…  
The same thing?  
Shut up.

“So, Spark, what do you do?”

The question makes your heart stutter and you feel a bit wide-eyed when you turn your gaze to Spark.

“I’m a gym leader. Runs in the family.”  
“You don’t say? What division?”  
“Instinct.”  
“Funny, I’m Valor. You could say we’re practically family.”  
“No we aren’t.”

You laugh and interrupt.

“Did you say it runs in the family? You never told me that. Is it your brother?”  
“My mom, actually.”  
“She Instinct, too?”  
“No.”  
“What division?”  
“Mystic.”  
“Fancy that! Ah, but blue is so not my color.”  
“I had no idea.”

Candela laughs first and you feel your heart slow to a more suitable resting rate when Spark grins and chuckles. Aurora’s smiling, chin on hand and you don’t have to guess who she’s looking at.

A waitress comes around to pour your coffee and ask if you’ve decided on your orders. Everyone abandons making conversation in favor of reading the menu. The table is uncomfortably quiet, or maybe it’s just you, alone with your thoughts, that is the uncomfortable one. You rub your palms on your jeans and ask yourself if you want your eggs scrambled, or do you text Rose and ask her to call Aurora with a fake emergency to make them leave?

A hand covers yours, stills it against your thigh. You don’t have to look to know it’s Candela. She reaches for her coffee with her other hand and asks if everyone’s made their choice.

“Ro, how’s the shop?”

Your question is sudden and out of place following Candela’s query. Aurora looks up, mid-yawn, a hand over her mouth.

“Mm? S’ok. My cousin’s looking after it over the holidays. She wants to learn how it’s done.”  
“But I thought you were taking over when your parents were through?”  
“Yeah, but we need extra hands.”  
“You will, if I’m bringing my team,” Candela chimes in, stroking the back of your hand.

They continue bantering easily, and you turn your gaze to Spark. He’s tapping a sugar packet and still looking at his menu. Your stomach feels tight and empty and full of nerves. The familiar scent beside you makes you selfishly wish you weren’t with Spark, that Aurora wasn’t here. You remember those hands all over you, the smell of her bed, of her hair. It’s not fair, you think.

No, it isn’t fair. Stop torturing yourself. You chose this.  
What if I chose wrong?  
Your chicken ass is in love with Spark. Don’t fuck this up.  
I’m still in love with her.  
You pushed her away and after someone else. You’ve seen enough Kantonese drama to know how that trope ends.  
…Arranged shotgun marriage to a doctor?  
You’re going to lose her, Spark, and Aurora. You’re going to hurt them all. Can you live with that?  
…  
Who do you love more?  
I don’t…  
Yes, you do. Stop thinking with your crotch.

The waitress comes around again and as soon as you place your order, you pull your hand free and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Safe behind a closed door, you lean against it and bury your face in your hands.

What am I doing what am I doing what am I doing what am I doing what am I doing-  
It’s not cheating if you don’t actually cheat.  
Am I seriously thinking of cheating on Spark?  
I dunno, you tell me. You wanna be the bitch that steals from your best friend’s plate, be my guest.  
No! No. I am not. I’m with Spark.  
You still love Candy, though.  
She wasn’t right for me.  
You mean she didn’t have a dick.  
That’s unfair and you know it.  
She was an experiment you indulged in too much. Like a coke habit. And now you’re being tested.  
That’s… not a poor comparison, I suppose.  
So, what’s it going to be? Become addicted again? You wanna burn out again?  
No…  
Or maybe you think you can have the best of both worlds.  
That’s not fair…  
You’ve thought of it. Couple of alpha types like them? They could have anyone. Spark could have anyone.  
I’m not going anywhere. Stop this.  
Stop it yourself. You were in no hurry to let go of her hand.

“I love Spark, I’m not doing this. I’m not.”

Your hand covers your mouth and you hold your breath, embarrassed that you said that aloud. You don’t hear anyone else and decide your secret’s safe and that you better head back to the table before anyone comes looking.

Your coffee’s been refilled and the food is beginning to arrive. Aurora is playing with the straw in her smoothie and telling the two gym leaders an animated story. You’ve seen that blouse before, and as soon as you think it you realize it’s not hers. For one, it’s too loose in the chest. Spark’s gaze shifts to you as you draw near and you force a little smile for his benefit as you take your seat. Candela reaches for your hand again and you pull away, tucking it between your thighs. It’s subtle, but you still see his gaze flick between you. He hasn’t eaten yet, but he looks like he’s slowly chewing on something, and you’re willing to bet it’s not tasty.

You start in on your breakfast, the greasy aroma of bacon and eggs settling your stomach, and serving as a useful distraction from having to pay attention to Aurora or anyone else.

“You planning to grow out that undercut?”  
“Ah, no. Just got lazy about shaving. Does it look bad?”  
“No, you look like a scruffy little pidgeotto.”

You snort and cover your mouth, giving Candela a sideways glance. Her grin gets bigger when she notices and you look at Aurora, feeling a bit bad for ganging up on her.

“You totally thought that, too?”  
“Oh, my god, exactly.”  
“Maybe I should streak the top, then.”  
“Seriously?”  
“Yeah, why not?”  
“Dunno why you dye it at all. Your natural hair is such a lovely color.”

Spark coughs and tries to not choke through his laughter. Aurora helpfully pats his back.

“Y’alright, Spark?”  
“I’m great.”  
“I think our resident male is shocked by our girl talk.”

Candela’s smile is less joy and more the cruel amusement of a predator smelling a weakness.

“I doubt that,” you mutter.  
“Candy, can you take one of my pancakes? I can’t eat both of them.”  
“Then why’d you order so much? Fine, load me up.”  
“Well, I don’t like wasting food, and I didn’t know their portions were this big.”  
“Yeah, yeah. Trying to get me fat, you little shit.”  
“Pft, one pancake?”  
“Yes, your one pancake.”

You clear your throat.

“Ro, I have your spare key if you need it.”  
“Uh, thanks? You don’t want to hold on to it anymore?”  
“No, just figured you’d like to get a hold of your own things. Nice blouse.”

She giggles and has the grace to blush. Candela reaches for Aurora’s plate and spears a few of her grilled potatoes.

“Sure, help yourself, Candy.”  
“Don’t mind if I do.”  
“I doubt I can finish all of it, anyway.”

You want to roll your eyes, but manage not to. Aurora could out-eat you and everyone else you both knew, and not even gain a kilo, the lucky bitch. What was all this posturing for?

Aurora passes a few more potatoes.

“Here, I love when you eat my stuff.”

Your fork clatters loudly against your plate, and your fumbling attempts to catch it send it off the table, onto the floor. The table next to you is silently staring. You’re not sure your face could physically get any redder. Candela clears her throat loudly and Spark is quietly snickering behind his coffee.

“Something funny, blondie?”  
“Just enjoying breakfast with friends.”

Aurora offers you her salad fork as Spark reaches for your plate and steals a slice of bacon. Candela watches him with an uneasy blend of amusement and violence. He glances at you as he takes the first bite and then returns Candela’s thinly-veiled hostility with a teasing smirk. You get the distinct feeling they’re not feuding over your bacon.

The waitress comes around with her pot of coffee and asks if anyone would like a refill. The four of you abruptly agree.

“What are you doing after this?” Spark enquires after the waitress leaves. “I think we should battle.”  
“First good idea you’ve had. Your gym close?”  
“It’s in the neighborhood.”  
“You’re on.”

After settling the bill and re-dressing, you catch up with Spark leading the way and take his arm. He stiffens a little but doesn’t shake you off. He’s still irritated –fine, he had every right to be.

“What are you doing goading her?”  
“I’m not. She’s a trainer. Battling is what we do.”  
“Spark, I know you can read between the lines.”  
“As well as you can.”  
“Do we have to do this, this pissing contest? You don’t know her team.”  
“And she doesn’t know mine. Look, she’s been pissy since she looked at me. Maybe a good battle will untie some of her knots.”

You sigh and give up trying to argue. Aurora joins you on the observation deck while Candela picks her team out of the computer system and transfers them in. The gym was still closed to the public, though several staff were in the building tending various pokemon, cleaning, and stocking things. As the gym leaders take their places at either end of the battlefield, Tanny comes running to join you.

“Wow, isn’t she a gym leader? Why’s she fighting Spark?”  
“Yup, Valor division. Her gym’s near Trinity Park.”

Aurora looks excited. Tanny looks uneasy. You share her sentiments.

“He invited her. What are you doing in? I thought you were on vacation.”  
“My turn on rotation to tend Dusty’s chicks. I was just putting some stuff away and I saw the cam feed.” She pauses and looks you over. “You alright?”  
“You tell me. Ro’s the only one excited to see this match go down.”  
“Gym leaders generally don’t fight each other. It’s a matter of prestige and equality. But I guess off the record, they’re just great trainers sparring.”

You’re not keen to tell Tanny the exact reason they’re fighting. The first match begins: Spark sends out a looming arbok as Candela releases a cloyster. The pearlescent silvery shell is quite beautiful, though the spikes are a clear warning that trespassers will not be tolerated. Being the visiting opponent, Candela attacks first, issuing an icicle crash. The air quickly chills and dries out as moisture is collected and hardened into hunks of ice that are hurtled at the snake. Spark tells it to dodge as best it can, and retaliates with a command to wrap. A few shards pepper the oil-slick colored scales but the arbok escapes the brunt of the attack and surges forward, far faster than you could ever imagine a creature that size moving. It rears up, flaring its hood open and rapidly encircles the shell-encased pokemon.

“Well, that was dumb. Cloyster have impenetrable defense,” Aurora remarks.  
“Doesn’t something live inside that shell?”  
“Yes, it’s a giant member of the bivalve family.”

Tanny snickers and you glance at her.

“What’s so funny?”  
“Oh, I just couldn’t help noticing their choice of pokemon. Sorry, it’s immature.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“He sends out a snake, she sends out a clam?”

Aurora looks at both of you, unimpressed.

“Y’all need Arceus.”

Below, the match has reached a stalemate as the arbok wrestles with the cloyster, wrapping tighter and tighter despite the clam’s attempts to rattle it off. Candela’s commands are unable to be fulfilled, as the shell can’t open to spew or direct anything. She paces back and forth, looking for an opening.

“Explosion.”

The pearly shell takes on a brilliant sheen as if lit from within, and for a brief moment, you’re able to see the x-ray outline of the creature within. Then a loud blast rocks the room and a spray of mist and smoke explodes from the shell, flinging the arbok off. Both pokemon faint and are recalled. Candela throws her next pokeball and releases a persian that roars its challenge. Spark sends out a bellsprout and calls an immediate attack. The uncanny walking plant sprints towards the cat and spits a glob of liquid at it.

“Ooh, venoshock? Spark’s pulling out the big guns.”  
“Come on, Candy, fight back!!”

The yelling draws Candela’s attention, but she doesn’t pay attention to Aurora. Her gaze meets yours and her expression hardens. She turns away and directs her pokemon to play rough. The cat chases the fly-catcher about before snagging it in its claws and rolling over to bat at it. Spark jogs to the far corner to survey the angle and after a moment of silence, yells for sleep powder, on the double. Candela looks pissed and distracted. Aurora sighs.

“Aw, another one down. It’s like she’s barely trying.”

Spark whistles and you turn to look at him. He smiles and waves, completely at ease and confident in his own domain. You wonder if being in a foreign gym is a disadvantage for Candela, or if she’s really not putting her heart into the matches. You smile back and raise a fist in a silent cheer.

“Ruby, babydoll eyes!”  
“Dash, pin missile!”

The flareon prances a few steps, then crouches, chin on paws and gazes submissively at Dash. The jolteon hesitates and Spark yells the command again, startling him out of his reverie. You look away as he fires his attack, causing a great dustcloud to erupt. You can’t see much of the field for a few moments, but you can hear Ruby barking and see the glow of her ember attacks.

What you don’t see is Spark alone.

Using the explosion for cover, Candela snuck around the perimeter of the field and was emerging on Spark’s side. Your heart slams against your chest. Spark looks surprised and irritated, looks like he’s trying to say something to her. She charges and swings at him, but his longer stride helps him evade the strike.

“What the fuck is she doing?!” Tanny gasps, reaching for her holocaster in her back pocket.  
“M-maybe they’re just gonna rough-house a little?”  
“CANDELA, STOP!!”

Spark does well to evade her attacks without fighting back, and you can hear bits and pieces of them snarling at each other as Candela advances on him, their pokemon left stalling on the field without direction. You hear Tanny spit an order into her holocaster, and then Aurora shrieking when Spark grabs Candela and throws her to the ground.

With a _pow!_ , the lights in the gym cut and a loud buzzer goes off. Your hands fly to your ears and you shut your eyes, trying to center yourself, the darkness and noise disorienting. A hand grabs your elbow and pulls you forward. Tanny’s got her holocaster’s camera’s flash illuminated and is leading you and Aurora back the way you came. Out of the gym, the noise is a low din, and the lighting is as normal. You realize you’re breathing hard and lower your hands.

“What was that?”  
“Best thing I could think of. Emergency protocol for handling pokemon that lose control in battle. No accounting for their trainers, I have to say.”  
“Get me down there.”  
“The other staff are pulling them apart. We don’t know what their pokemon are doing, either. It’s not a place for civvies.”  
“Tanny, get me down there, _now_.”

 

The battlefield is strewn with dust and shards of cloyster shell, but the air has cleared and both gym leaders have been set in opposing corners to be tended to. Dash is whining and pacing the gym restlessly, ears and head down, retreating from anyone who comes near. His behavior isn’t hostile, so nobody’s bothering with him yet. Ruby is seated by Candela’s feet, attentively watching her trainer. You approach your boyfriend first, imagining your blood boiling in your veins as your temper forms reams of words waiting to leave your lips. His assistant hears you coming, and one look over his shoulder is enough to send him scampering several paces back. You grab a handful of Spark’s shirt and slam him into the wall behind the bench he’s on.

“What the fuck did you do?!”

The surprise is clear as day across his face, along with a few scratches and a shiner that’s going to be damn ugly by tomorrow. You figure he deserves it.

“She hit me first.”  
“She’s a woman! You’re twice her size!”  
“And who do you think did all this!?”

Your grip isn’t strong enough to hold him back when he lunges forward. He’s got a cut lip and it looks like she gave a fair try at ripping his hair out.

“You of all people… Spark, I expected better.”

His indignation becomes bitter anger, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. His voice is the warning growl of a wounded creature.

“You know exactly why this started. Don’t act so high and mighty.”

Hurtful venom clogs your throat with words you want to say, too many things at the spur of the moment, and you can’t find where to begin. Your anger is veering towards tears now and you don’t want Spark to see you cry, so you grit your teeth and let go, turn away to see what shape Candela’s in.

A few of her nails are broken and her fingers are being bound. You overhear the assistant telling her it’s a busted blood vessel and she’s going to feel it for a while. She’s got smudges of dirt and a few minor scratches to her face, but she does look better than Spark. She looks up as you approach and sighs, opening her mouth to say something.

You rear your hand back and slap her hard across the face. The sound of it echoes though the gym and pauses all activity. Spark’s staff recoil from you altogether.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you better fix it, Candela, because you are on the thinnest of ice.”

Your voice sounds low and frightening, even to you. Your ears are thundering with your own pulse. Ruby turns on you and growls a warning, snaps her jaws at you until you back up a few paces. For a moment, you’re shocked; the flareon had been your most affectionate ally… months ago. Candela touches her face with her good hand, rubs her cheek gingerly.

“Damn, girl, you hit good…”  
“What crawled up your ass and died, huh? Why’d you start this?”  
“He’s a good man, you know. Courteous enough not to touch my face when we was brawlin’.”  
“WHY, CANDELA?”  
“…Jealous.”

Her reply is small and unconfident.

“What?”  
“You heard me, I said I’m jealous.”

She bites her lip and looks you in the eye, then somewhere at the floor.

“When we saw each other, I thought maybe we might start again. You wanted to go it alone, so I respected that. But it’s been some eight months. I can’t stop-”

She takes a shaky breath and swallows.

“I hate that you don’t want me anymore. Because I never stopped wanting you, and it’s not fair.”  
“And you think punching my boyfriend will make me want you back? Dump his currently sorry ass for you? Is that it?”

She’s quiet and fighting sorry tears of her own. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize you didn’t know her long enough to ever see her cry. Even when you had left, she had smiled and arrogantly declared you’d come crawling back.

“You think hooking up with my best friend and flirting with me on the low is going to impress me? Do you have any idea how smitten she is? Have you even looked at her? Have you considered moving the fuck on?”  
“Sweetness, I never claimed to be smart.”  
“No, smart, you are not. Stupid, yes. Jealous. Rude. Vindictive. Childish. Loud -oh, my god, you are a foghorn. Why do you think I left? You think I did it to hurt you? I did it because you were hurting _me_ , god dammit! You’re still hurting me! How can you say you care for someone when all you do is hurt them?”

Your tears spill and you can feel your anger pouring out with them.

“Did you ever consider why I loved you? Because you’re loyal. Giving. You can make someone feel like they’re the only person alive worth looking at. You’re funny. You’re the best person to get drunk with. And sometimes you’re excruciatingly kind. And I wanted more of all that. I told you then, and you didn’t hear me. What was I supposed to do?”

“W-what are you talking about?”

You both look up to find Aurora timidly slowing to a halt on the outskirts of your confrontation. You wipe at the wetness on your face.

“You guys were a thing?”  
“Cat’s outta the bag. Come sit down, honey.”  
“No. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you throw me at her? To make yourself feel better?”  
“Oh, shit, no. I knew you were both single-”  
“But she’s not over you, and you’re with Spark. Little Ro’s the token slut, happy to go with whoever’s free, is that it?”  
“I never thought that, don’t you dare put words in my mouth, Aurora.”  
“Why didn’t either of you _say anything_?!”

Her freckles are lurid against her skin for a moment before the flush of crying takes over.

“Because it’s been over for months and it has nothing to do with you. I’m not responsible for Candela’s feelings, dammit, don’t do this. You were so happy this morning, and I was happy for you. I was so happy for you both!”  
“But then why’s she hitting Spark? What the fuck, Candy? You jealous for what?”

You and Aurora face Candela and you feel a twinge of pity for the cornered, helpless look on her face.

“Because I… I can’t let go. I don’t know how. I care about you Aurora, but if I’m guilty of moving things too fast, then you may as well be Formula One. It’s barely been a week and you’re already doing the jilted girlfriend thing. We getting hitched next week?”  
“Well, fuck you both, I can’t help liking you!”

You all share an awkward, teary laugh at that. Aurora was always brutally succinct in her feelings.

“Now there’s a fun idea.”  
You give Candela a stern look and she wilts a little.  
“Yeah, too soon. Ok.”

“Mind if I interrupt?”

Spark doesn’t wait for an answer and approaches Candela. She stands, angling her injured arm’s side away from him, but otherwise meets his imposition.

“If you weren’t a gym leader, you’d be in the back of a cruiser right now.”  
“That’s fair.”  
“And regardless of my girlfriend’s feelings for you, she’s made her choice. So, if you want to stay pals, you’re going to have to work on…” He gestures vaguely at her. “That. Because next time, you won’t be a guest and I won’t hold my punches.”  
“Also fair.”  
“That battle was utter shit and we both know it. You owe me a rematch.”

Candela cracks a grin and holds her good hand out.

“You got it, blondie. Sorry for messing up your pretty face. It was dark.”  
“Yeah, yeah, fuck your excuses.”

Spark grabs her hand and they shake on it.

“You need a proper medic?”  
“Nah, just something to numb the pain a few days.”  
“There’s a decent pub down the block.”  
“That’ll do.”

Spark cuffs her shoulder, unable to smile back without hurting his lip more.

“Great. Now if you’ll excuse me, my jolteon needs his pokeball.”

He doesn’t look at you as he passes. Candela grunts and you turn to find Aurora hugging her tightly.

“You stupid bitch.”

Those golden eyes look at you and Candela wraps her good arm around Aurora, strokes her undercut. She looks like a kid that just dropped her icecream while trying to save her dog from getting run over, and couldn’t prevent either tragedy.

“Starting to think that’s my name.”  
“I’m going home.”  
“Sure you don’t want to come have a drink? Feel like we could all use one.”  
“No, I’ve had enough of this. I don’t want to be around anyone right now. I’m not sure how I feel about everything and I want to just be alone to figure it out.”  
“I get that. Can I ask one really big favor?”  
“What?”  
“If I call, will you still pick up?”

Aurora steps back and wipes at her face. She’s sniffling and looks miserable. You’ve never seen her cry like this, and part of you feels guilty as hell.

“Ro? Please?”  
“You talk a lot about unfairness for someone who is really unfair. I don’t know. Call if you want. I don’t know right now if I’ll answer. I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

You head home, your stomach in knots. The way Spark had looked at you, spoken to you, had felt like a hammer to the gut. After stripping your coat off, you stand in the hallway, unsure what to do next. You were angry, hurt, sad, scared. All of this, everything that had happened today was your own fault. If you hadn’t invited Candela, Spark wouldn’t have been on edge, wouldn’t have goaded her into a battle, and wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

You sink into the throw on his bed and curl up in it, wrapping it around yourself and resting your head on his pillow. And you let the tears come.

Your holocaster rings. You ignore it, too wrapped up in your pity party to reach for it. After a moment of silence, it rings again. It’s persistently Rose.

_“Why is Aurora calling me sobbing and saying you fucked up?”_  
“Hi, I’m sorry.”  
_“Oh, no, you’re crying, too? What happened?”_

You give her the briefest explanation you can, and conclude, sobbing:

“And Spark’s hurt and so mad at me, I think he’s going to dump me! I feel so bad, Rose!”

Rose heaves a long-suffering sigh and you continue crying shamelessly.

_“It’s called guilt. You did fuck up, and now you feel guilty. Honestly, what in the name of the Holy Birds did you think you were going to accomplish dragging him out with your ex? That you’d be all copacetic?”_

Your answer is a whimper and several sniffles.

_“You’re right. You’re not responsible for Candela’s butthurt. That’s her problem. But throwing Aurora at her as a diversion when you knew she wasn’t over you was willfully ignorant and cruel. I can’t believe you’d do that.”_  
“Rosie, please…”  
_“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go blow your nose and wash your face. You’re going to sit down and draft an email to Aurora, and you’re not going to send it until tomorrow, because god knows she’s mad at you with good reason.”_  
“I’m sorry…”  
_“Don’t apologize to me! Apologize to your friend you just threw under the bus!”_  
“Ok, I will.”  
_“And after you’re done that email, you’re going to go take a walk and stop thinking about this. I know you’re lying in bed, crying your sad, little heart out. You need to stop. Get on with life and try to fix your shit, now.”_

Distantly you hear her request to pass her one of something, and then hear her sigh and promptly cough.

_“Dammit, you two are driving me to smoke again.”_  
“Hey! Put it out!”

You can hear her take another few drags and then blow out the smoke and cough a few more times.

“Rose, quit it!”

You can hear Blizzard murmuring something and Rose laughs while coughing.

 _“I’m hiding the rest from her,”_ Bliz yells towards the phone.

_“Argh, what a way to end the year. Are you done crying?”_  
“You done smoking?”  
_“Almost.”_  
“Ok, but what if he breaks up with me?”  
_“Can you blame him? Bless that man for going along at all; I know I wouldn’t. Hon, I love you and I want you to be happy, but you make your life hard, sometimes.”_  
“Will you tell Ro I’m sorry?”  
_“No. You will. I’m just the mediator.”_

You’re crestfallen at that. You flump back down on Spark’s pillow. The scent of him wafts up at you and reminds you how empty the apartment feels.

 

It’s sundown when Spark comes home a tad drunk and subdued. You’re running the tap on the ice tray as soon as you hear the door, and by the time he makes it out of his boots and jacket, you’re in the hall with a towel wadded around a lump of icecubes. He takes it with a word of thanks and takes a seat at the kitchen table. You set a hot mug of tea in front of him.

“How’s your eye?”  
“Sore.”  
“And your lip?”  
“Same.”  
“Want anything for it?”  
“Gonna shower and lay down a bit.”  
“Good. You smell like a brewery.”

Your attempt at a joke is met with no reaction.

“Thought you were mad at me.”  
“Same.”

You gnaw your lower lip and fidget your hands, wishing you could touch him, but afraid it might cause him pain, or worse –that he’ll shrug you off. Your voice feels like a frightened child when you speak.

“Please don’t leave. I don’t want to look for another roommate. I don’t want to come home to a stranger, or strange pokemon. I don’t want to sleep alone again. I can’t watch you leave.”

He shifts the ice and looks at you. His one eye looks very tired.

“Have you been crying?”  
“I feel so bad about what happened today. All of it. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, Spark.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“If you think I’m letting her win by dumping your currently sorry ass, you don’t know me at all.”

It’s the most relieving thing you’ve heard all day. You sniffle and duck your head, giving a wobbly smile and nod. You pour yourself into a chair across from him, too grateful to stand.

“I’d really like it if you never saw her again.”  
“Spark-”  
“I’m not saying it to be a dick. She’s not ok. I think seeing you again really fucked her up.”

You sigh. You still want to cling to the hope that you and Candela could be friends. A selfish part of you doesn’t want to have to choose, but you know who you would pick if you had to. It doesn’t make you feel any happier.

“Are you still going to your parents’ tomorrow?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I think I’d better stay home.”  
“If you think you’re punishing me by not going-”  
“No, I’m not. I’d just feel really guilty showing up with you and you’ve got a black eye. They’ll think something happened.”

Spark weakly smiles and wraps his hand around the warm mug.

“Then we don’t say.”  
“We’re already tap-dancing around why we’re together. How much are you planning to not tell them?”  
“Training accident. Occupational hazard.”  
“It’s not right. Either we be honest, or I stay out of it.”  
“My mom’s a gym leader. It’s pretty common to have stuff fly at you and sometimes hit you. It’s the path of least questioning. Unless you want to tell them your ex shamed our tradition and broke about two dozen League rules.”

You huff at that, finding reason in his explanation, but still not liking the dishonesty.

“What if I covered it up?”  
“You want me to wear an eyepatch? I know you like those pirate movies, but I didn’t think you’d take it this far.”  
“No, I mean with makeup.”  
“You have stuff strong enough to hide a black eye?”  
“How do you think I’ve been hiding your teeth?”  
“Honestly, I never thought about it. But ok, whatever.”

You’re both quiet as he sips his tea and adjusts the ice on his face. With both of your tempers at neutral, it was easy to look him over and really see what the damage was.

“Were you scared?”  
“I was a lot of things. Look, I’m not proud of what happened, but I handled it the best way I knew how.”  
“I’m sorry you’re hurt, babe. I’m sorry for yelling at you before. I was scared and I didn’t understand what was going on.”  
“You’re right to assume I’m more dangerous based on size alone, but don’t think I won’t hit anyone who comes at me first, regardless what’s in their pants. You don’t get to pick a fight and then cry sexism because you got hit.”  
“You’re right.”  
“Besides, that woman is pretty damn strong.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“I heard.”

Feeling restless and emotionally wrung out, you get up, intending to clean something just to keep your hands busy. Spark reaches for you and tugs you in with an arm around your waist, rests his head just under your breasts. The weight of him is sudden and you realize he’s a lot more tired (or drunk) than he’s letting on. You stroke the back of his neck.

“Have you eaten?”  
“Mm-mm.”  
“Ok, well you’re going to need more than beer in you. Why don’t you go have your shower and I’ll bring you something on the sofa.”  
“If you’re feeling particularly guilty, I know something that would hasten my forgiveness.”

You smirk and flick his ear.

“Play your cards right and stay awake long enough, mister, and we’ll see.”

When you bring him a sandwich and more tea, he’s already out cold on the sofa. You drape the throw on the back of the sofa over him and take a seat on the rug. Leaning close, you brush back his hair and smooth your thumb over his brows until his expression softens. You kiss his forehead. The loveseat sits empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	10. Poopie-head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies are hard. 
> 
> Wrangling your makeup-shy boyfriend is hard. 
> 
> Being welcomed by his family with open arms is so very easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

You open your eyes as the room is turning grey.

You had woken up several times throughout the night, more often awake than asleep, so this much wasn’t new. What was new, was that morning had arrived. You could count on one hand how many hours you had actually slept.

Your body protests and pleads to go back to sleep, but your head, feeling clogged with sand, stomps its feet and urges you up and out of bed. Your muscles grumble and curse as you check in at the bathroom before hitting the kitchen for a pick-me-up. Bojangles trots after you and sits on your slippered toes as you measure coffee into the machine. You dole out his breakfast and fresh water while the machine drips.

Two cups in hand, and an eevee on your tail, you return to Spark’s bed. After settling the blanket across your legs, you pat your lap and stage-whisper at your pet to join you. Bojangles blinks and coyly tilts his head to one side. You reach for your holocaster and coffee and breathe in the vapors as you stare at your screen, at the email in your drafts box waiting to be sent.

Aurora’s words had an uncomfortable truth to them that you hadn’t thought of until recently: You had thrown her at Candela like a sacrifice. No thought to repercussions. No empathy. Barely an introduction.

You were an asshole.

“Whyuh up th’s early?”

You’re startled from your thoughts and reminded that the bed is occupied by more than you when Spark turns over and lays his head in your lap, an arm across your legs. His voice sounds uncommonly groggy and nasally, and his hair reminds you of a kid in a baby shampoo commercial –all snarls, cowlicks, and fraying curls. Boomer sighs and stretches across the top of Spark’s pillow, then stills, comfortably asleep again.

“Made you coffee.”  
“Mmnthankou. Why you up this early?”  
“Couldn’t sleep.”  
“Why?”  
“Too many thoughts.”  
“Would it help ‘f’I said I’m not mad ‘nymore?”  
“It helps.”  
“Now sleep.”  
“I can’t.”

Spark’s awake enough to comprehend that you’ve reached a stalemate and goes quiet. You read the email again and sigh, setting the device down and trading the mug to your free hand. Your coffee-warmed palm settles on Spark’s bared back, circling between his shoulder blades.

“You sound awful, babe. Are you coming down with something?”  
“Bruised sinuses.”  
“Oh. How’s the rest of your face?”  
“Sore.”

No surprise. Bojangles hops up and prances back a step, just shy of kicking Spark in the face. He draws close to sniff, paying close attention to the vivid purple-black ring around Spark’s left eye. A tentative licking gets Spark chuckling.

“Aww, thanks, buddy.”  
“Bo, let him sleep.”  
“‘m halfway ‘wake anyway.”  
“Bo, lie down.”  
“Buuiie?”

From Spark’s other side comes a smack of jaws being licked and an inquisitive tone from Dash. Bojangles hops over Spark’s legs under the bedding and joins his fellow eevee. Spark clears his throat.

“Can I tell you something you might not want to hear?”  
“No. But go ahead.”  
“First thing every good trainer learns, besides survival, is how to get over failure. The ones who can’t don’t go far. Cause you start out rock bottom, and if you’re lucky, you win maybe one in ten battles. Everyone’s bigger and tougher than you. Your team get hurt, you might get hurt, other asshole trainers might laugh at you. And this goes on for weeks, months, until your team get stronger, until you get smarter.”  
“Spark, not everything is about pokemon.”  
“No, but the lesson is the same. You think the guy who invented the holocaster failed and gave up? He probably failed a shitload before he had something that worked. Same for whoever invented planes, scissors, bread. You think you’d be here, doing your job and living this life if you gave up every time your applications got turned down?”

You’re quiet, stewing over that. Right now, optimism feels like a foreign language you can’t hope to learn.

“I feel like the stupidest person in the room right now. Please don’t give me the ol’ pep talk.”  
“You’re not stupid. You just failed. It’s not the end of the world. You will carry on.”  
“My best friend hates me!”  
“And what are you going to do about that?”  
“Rose said I should write her an apology.”  
“Have you done that?”  
“I didn’t send it yet.”  
“Send it now.”  
“I’m afraid; what if she doesn’t reply?”  
“That’s possible. But at least you’ll know you gave it your best shot and meant it.”

It’s a valid point. You observe the room, the bed, the man in your lap, and feel so painfully out of place in the quiet domesticity, in the peace of the room when your inner world is anything but. You’re too tired to cry about it anymore. Too tired and numb to fight anymore.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?”  
“Too tired. Anyway, what would it change? Would you feel better if I was? Wouldn’t fix my bruises or your friendship, I can tell you that.”  
“But how come?”  
“Because I failed, too. And coming down on everyone involved won’t change anything. You tumble down a ravine and scatter your gear; sitting mad won’t change the fact that your shit’s all over the place and you gotta pick it up.”

Now there’s an analogy for the ages.

“You didn’t fail,” you insist. “I dragged everyone into this.”  
“I chose to go along instead of telling you this was a bad idea, that I don’t want you hanging around your ex. Now I’ve got a black eye to show for it. You may have announced the invitation, but we’re all still responsible for attending.”

You feel your expression collapsing unhappily and distract yourself with your coffee. Your hand follows the curve of Spark’s shoulder to his bicep and back again, up his nape and into his hair. He reciprocates the affection through the blanket, the dulled outline of his fingers tracing your knee and calf.

“Do you want me to read it before you send it?”  
“Would you?”

You unlock your holocaster and hand it to Spark, then put your hand back in his hair, raking it gently into interesting waves and curling the ends around your fingertips. You envied how soft it felt. You studied the subtle streaks of darker and lighter gold as they were revealed, observed the pattern his hair grew in.

“Is this all of it?”  
“Yes.”  
“You wrote ‘I’m sorry, I fucked up’ like, 40 times.”  
“Ok?”  
“Maybe elaborate on that?”

You sigh as he hands back your holocaster.

“Can’t even apologize right.”  
“It just needs some work. Let’s start at the beginning. Did you knowingly throw her to Candela as a way to divert her attention from you?”  
“No.”  
“Write that.”

You erase your present, lackluster apology and begin typing anew.

“Ok.”  
“Done?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Ok, next: explain why you thought they’d make a good match.”  
“I just knew they were single. God, even saying that out loud sounds really lame.”  
“Bullshit a little. You’re trying to make her understand you didn’t orchestrate any of this to hurt her.”  
“It was a negligent accident.”  
“So, write that.”

The words are a struggle. Even knowing what you want to write, it’s hard to feel convincing. When you feel like you can’t hack at it any more, you give Spark an affirmation.

“Now, what was the whole point of inviting them to brunch?”  
“I just want us all to be friends. Pretty naive of me, I guess.”  
“No, it’s not. Did you know just how not over you Candela was?”  
“No. I mean, it was awkward at the club, but when is meeting your ex not awkward?”  
“Right.”  
“Write that?”  
“Yeah, all of that.”  
“Ok.”  
“Now that that’s explained; now you say you’re sorry.”

You write it all out and somehow, saying sorry this time doesn’t feel as pleading and helpless. You still don’t like it.

“This all sounds like I’m blaming Candela.”  
“She is the one who overreacted and threw the first punch. Literally.”  
“Spark!”  
“What? Look it over and tell me I’m wrong. Do you honestly think this was all on you? Come on.”  
“I don’t want to blame her…”  
“It doesn’t matter, the facts speak for themselves. She _is_ to blame, like it or not. She could have behaved like the mature, responsible pillar of society she’s supposed to be, but instead she chose to act like a jackass. Nobody will doubt you on that. And yes, you’re guilty of inviting her even knowing she might not be over you, but you’re not responsible for her being a jackass. That was all her.”  
“For someone who was dead asleep ten minutes ago, you’re remarkably on the ball.”  
“Years of practice.”  
“You’re also, like, personally offended at her behaviour. Why?”  
“Yeah, I am. Trainers toil for years and study for years more just to qualify for the gym program. And then if you’re lucky enough to graduate, lucky enough to join a gym or buy your own, you get to guide the next generations of trainers. And then she goes and throws a tantrum and shames it all to hell because she can’t get over the one who got away.”

Spark sighs and shifts to get more comfortable, drapes his arm across your legs again. You stretch to set your mostly empty mug aside.

“I get how she feels, though. I’m not discounting that. I feel sorry for her, actually. But the League is bigger than her petty feelings. You don’t just run a gym and battle kids and call yourself a gym leader. You _are_ a leader, you _have_ to be, like it or not. And the rest of us get dragged down a notch when shit like this happens.”  
“You really take your job seriously.”  
“I love my job. My mom loves her job. Her mother’s sister loves her job. My great grandfather loved his job, eventually made it into Parliament for all of his good service. He became part of the party that crafted the three divisions.”  
“Really? That’s so fucking cool. Your family actually shaped our region?”  
“Yeah, I guess. I want to live up to what they made, keep it going. The only reason I’m not making this public is to protect the city’s gyms. She would be reprimanded, and other gym leaders -including me- would be criticized by association by the public. And she knows it.”  
“I had no idea. I really don’t know much about gyms. All I know is what bits and pieces I see in the news, or on tv. I know the League comprises half the government, and gyms are like… I dunno, no offense, but I used to think of them as glorified babysitting hubs.”

Spark snorts at that.

“You’re such a muggle.”

You frown and give his ear a sharp yank.

“Ow! Ok, I take it back!”  
“That’s better. So, your family are like… modern nobility, in a way.”  
“Hah, no. We’re not rich or gaudy by any stretch. We all work real jobs.”  
“No, I mean in the archaic sense. Back when kings and queens were the top rulers, the nobility were the equivalent of social and economic management.”  
“Oh, I guess so? When I hear the word, I just think of pampered, rich do-nothings.”  
“Those are aristocrats.”  
“Thanks for clarifying. Glad one of us did well academically. That’s my smart girl.”  
“That’s right, I’m a well-educated non-muggle.”  
“So, gym leaders are nobility? Then the League is the queen to Parliament’s king.”  
“Yeah, I guess so. If I think about it that way, you’re protecting the noble class overall by not airing her transgressions.”

You comb your fingers through his hair in an idle motion as you read over your email again and tweak a few things here and there to help it flow better.

“Does that make me a Lord, or a Sire, or what?”  
“It makes you a gym leader.”  
“No, but according to history or whatever. Would I be like an Earl or a Duke or something?”  
“You’re a gym leader.”  
“Aw, come on. Humor me.”  
“You’re getting on my nerves, your lordship.”  
“Yeah!”

Bojangles approaches to investigate again, and Spark playfully cuffs his chin.

“Sir Bojangles, you should show my lordship more respect than to walk all over me. Even if you are a svelte seven pounds.”

Your eevee whines and licks his hand. Spark scratches behind his ear and murmurs affectionate baby talk to your pet.

“How’s this?”

You hand your holocaster over again and lean forward to pet Bojangles. Your head doesn’t feel much better with caffeine, but despite your body’s achy whining, you don’t feel sleep returning any time soon, either.

“Yeah, that’s much better. When I read it, I feel like you’re understanding the situation and explaining it from your point of view, which wasn’t malicious. And you’re sorry nobody spilled the beans sooner, and that she felt betrayed and hurt. It’s good.”  
“Relatively speaking.”  
“Look, you can only give it your best shot. You know there is a very real and valid chance she might choose not to forgive you. She’s allowed to make that choice.”

Spark carefully eases out of your lap and flumps down next to you, gives a great stretch and a groan. The sheets don’t follow him, and you’re treated to a lot more skin than just his bare back. You’re tempted to tickle his tummy when he speaks:

“In any case, I hope she decides being your friend is worth more than being pissed off.”  
“I hope so… Ok, I’m gonna do it. I’m hitting send.”  
“I’ll still lo-”

Spark halts and clears his throat, feigning a simple slip of the tongue. You hold perfectly still, staring at your screen as if you hadn’t heard, afraid to move, or breathe, or do anything that might frighten those timid words again.

“I’m right here with you.”

Dammit. There they went, far away and around the bend. In any other circumstance, you’d tease it out of him properly, but given recent events and his obvious reluctance, you opt to shut up. Still. Your mood feels like it’s been given a dusting off and a fresh coat of paint at the mere notion, and that’s plenty for now.

You tap the icon and watch your app refresh as it sends out your email. You hope Aurora hasn’t blocked you.

“Now lay down.”  
“I don’t think I can sleep.”  
“Yeah, I know. You were so restless, you woke me up a few times.”  
“Sorry.”

You put your holocaster back on the nightstand by your mug and scoot down on the bed to lay against Spark.

“Ow.”  
“What?”  
“You jabbed a lethal elbow into me. Ow! Dash?!”

A whine beyond Spark answers that. You snicker.

“Aww, everyone’s kicking your ass lately.”  
“I’m starting to take it personally.”  
“So, move closer. I think you’re crowding Dash.”

The two of you manage to settle down without mauling anyone else on the bed. Spark slips his hand under the back of your tee, simply seeking the feel of your skin, and nestles his head halfway on your shoulder and pillow. Fingers smooth over his hair and tease along the back of his ear. You sigh and shut your eyes, enjoying the silence of the apartment, the feel of his heart beating, the mild tickle of his breathing on your chest.

“Thank you for letting it go,” you murmur.  
“I don’t do grudges. Bad for your health.”  
“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but I hope you do.”  
“Forgive what? You being mistaken? Unaware?”  
“For bringing her back into the picture, like a dumbass, and thinking everything would be alright.”  
“As your boyfriend, I have to agree, it was pretty dumb of you to think your very forward, apparently aggressive ex would be civilized. But it would be hypocritical of me, because I’ve been there, too. I know it’s hard to let go and try to make like everything is fine. So, as your friend, I have to back you.”  
“My boyfriend thinks I’m dumb, but my friend supports my efforts. Really getting a mixed vibe here.”

He laughs quietly. You open your eyes and look down at him.

“It’s funny, though. We talked, and she told me to my face just how unfair she felt this was.”  
“She told you?”  
“I may have… wheedled it out.”  
“Mm-hm.”  
“I know she tried to kiss you when she walked in. She was doing something under the table you weren’t thrilled about, either. She never stopped wanting you, and, I dunno. Something about hearing her say that made me want you even more.”  
“She was just holding my hand.”  
“All the same.”  
“I’m not going anywhere, Spark, I promise.”  
“If you do, I’ll go with you. I don’t want to become someone who only gets to hold your hand under the table.”

His hand on your back shifts higher, tugging your shirt up your ribs in the front and he pulls your shoulder closer to kiss the hollow of your throat.

“I know we have stuff to work on, and I want to if it means staying together.”  
“Why are you insecure all of a sudden? What did she say to you?”  
“Everything I felt and never acted on when Abelia said she didn’t love me, even after three damn years. When I had to smile, and congratulate her and Tanny at their wedding. It isn’t fair to watch someone you love reject you, move on to someone else who makes them happier than you ever did.”  
“Have you ever told her that?”  
“What would it change?”  
“It would change you, maybe. You’d be able to exorcise these feelings you can’t let go of. I know you want to be all noble and shit, but at what cost?”  
“It’s too late. It would be too out of place.”  
“It’d be awkward as hell, you’re right. But you have every right to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

Spark sighs and tugs your shirt down, rest his hand on the small of your back. You can feel his pinky tracing the sliver of bared skin above the band of your panties back and forth. You get the feeling he’s done talking, about Abelia or anything else. You hope he does give her a piece of his mind, not because you dislike her, but because you care for him more. You’re becoming tired of her shadow, faded though it is.

“I’m going back to sleep. Come with me.”

Warm and languid, sleep now sounds pretty good. You close your eyes and shift your hips, getting more comfortable, and let your cheek settle against the top of his head. With a sigh, you feel the complaints of your mind and body fade away, your focus becoming silence, the touch of his hand on your back, and the knowledge that he had almost said he loved you.

 

“Spark, if you don’t let me cover up that bruise, I’m not going with you.”  
“Ok, ok, I’m coming.”

Spark lets himself into the bathroom as you swipe on your lip-gloss and perches on the counter, putting himself between you and the mirror. A knee nudges your hip.

“Here I am. Make me pretty. Not too pretty, though, or my sis will get jealous.”  
“You’re awfully antsy about a little face paint.”  
“I’ve survived harrowing storms, and deadly mountain ranges, and two deserts. This is cake.”  
“Uh-huh. Relax your face.”

The bruise was now a vivid purple tinged greeny-yellow along the edges. Regular icing had helped much of the swelling, but an injury was still an injury, and no amount of makeup could hide that. You dug through your makeup and found what might approximate his skin tone if blended right, and got to work.

“How’s your hand doing?”

Spark holds his hands out and you compare the two; one was unmarred, the other had a semi-circular bruise and the mostly-healed remains of scratches. There wasn’t much you could do about those, but the bruises you could hide.

“I don’t use waterproof stuff. Think maybe you can avoid washing your hands?”  
“You don’t think this is a little overkill?”  
“Do you have any pokemon that would leave a bite like that?”  
“Mmm… nope.”  
“Then how would you explain this?”  
“The only one tactless enough to see it and not completely understand and ignore it would be my brother. It’s what little brothers do.”  
“So, you’re saying your parents would know it was me and not say a word?”  
“Ah, yep.”

Your face cools a little and you know you’ve gone pale at that.

“Fuck the makeup, we’re bandaging it.”  
“Ok, no, you need to chill.”  
“There is no way I’m meeting your parents for the first time with you covered in bruises _I made_. I don’t want that kind of reputation!”

Spark grabs your hands to still you and refocus your attention. Staring into his eyes, you realize you’re breathing a little too hard. This whole mess has you really worked up. You realize you’re really looking forward to meeting his family, really hoping they like you. When did that start to be a goal?

“Listen. Whatever you think they’re going to be like, they’re not. Hand on my heart, my family will care more about you as a person than how we fuck. They know it’s not their place to say anything anyway.”  
“And me as a person got you punched in the eye.”  
“We’d be the only ones who knew that. But here I am letting you cover it because you’re uncomfortable. Ok? Can we meet halfway on this? I don’t want bandaids and makeup all over my body. I’m not ashamed of anything. I don’t want you to be, either.”

You pout your lips and frown. He shows no signs of buckling. You add a huff for emphasis and lightly squint your eyes. Dammit, he’s really not backing down. After a long and increasingly uncomfortable stalemate you swallow your pride and have to relent, or you’ll never make it anywhere tonight.

“Fine. Just your face. In case they take any photos.”  
“Fine, that’s fair.”

He doesn’t complain about the makeup and you hold your tongue about wanting to duct-tape his hand into an oven mitt. Compromise. By the time you’re done, only looking very closely would betray your makeup skills. Or maybe that’s just because you know the bruise is there. Either way, it’s good enough and Spark’s eager to head out the door.

“You almost ready? I’ll book a ride.”  
“Yep. Do you have the gift for your parents?”  
“It’s already at the door.”  
“The wine?”  
“Also at the door.”  
“Are you bringing Boomer and Dash?”  
“Oh. Yeah, I’ll go get them.”

You tidy up the bathroom and sneak into your room to grab one more gift bag out of your closet to add to the gifts by the door. It doesn’t escape Spark’s notice and he raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”  
“A gift.”  
“For…?”  
“Someone.”  
“Me?”  
“Hey, stop touching it! No peeking allowed!”  
“It’s for me, isn’t it?”  
“Go get Boomer and Dash.”

Your approach chases him off a few steps and you cross your arms, standing between him and the gifts, hoping to look menacing enough to deter his curiosity. His gaze flicks to the bags, then up to you, then, suspiciously enough, at your feet and the space around you. You cock your hip and glare harder. If he was going to try an offensive maneuver, you were shit out of luck. Really, all he had to do was pick you up over his shoulder. (Part of you hopes he does; getting carried around was fun!) He shifts his jaw like he’s really thinking about doing just that, but then turns away, apparently deciding rounding up his pokemon before your ride arrives is more important. You let out a breath and deflate just a little.

You’ve got your coat and boots on by the time he returns, and the bags for himself and his parents in hand to keep him away.

“Fine, I get the message.”  
“Don’t forget the wine.”  
“Did you want to bring Bo?”  
“Next time. I’m not hunting him out now.”  
“Dammit.”  
“Hah, I’m on to you.”  
“You should bring him next time. Keys?”  
“In the lock.”

The ride took the better part of an hour, during which your driver chatted amiably about the weather and holiday season, asked if you were going to a party, and finally gave up when your answers dwindled to monosyllabic non-answers. Spark gives you a brief run-down on who was who, and did what, and what to call everyone as the car rolls to a final stop.

The house that Spark had grown up in was situated on a large property with yards all around that were bigger than your whole apartment. There were other houses lining the little street, though they were equally well-endowed in greenspace and far enough away as to be forgettable and private. All the facades had assortments of lights up, candelabra, decorated shrubbery, and the odd snowman or battlement against snowball fights. The snow filling the yards was deep and windblown into soft, waving designs. Every window you could see had a candle in it, electric or otherwise. The neighborhood itself felt like it glowed with warmth and welcome. For a moment, you very much missed your own family, so much that it stilled your feet and made your chest ache.

“Watch out, there tends to be black ice around here.”

Spark takes your hand and leads the way up the drive, footpath, and stairs to the front door. The steps are illuminated with decorative globes of cool blue foxfire, and a large wreath of bells hangs on the door. Spark lets you both inside.

“Hello?” he calls in a sing-song. “Your handsome, prodigal son returns!”

You close the door behind you, snickering. The air is perfumed with the smell of baking molasses, ginger, cinnamon, and a general herbal undertone from the dried sprigs over every doorway. The vestibule has a large carpet rolled out and a rubber mat with a few sets of boots already on it.

Pounding overhead gives way to feet as a teenage boy trots down the stairs and without hesitation, launches himself at Spark in the middle of taking his boots off, sending them both to the floor with a thud. You yelp and skitter back against the door to avoid the tussle.

“I did what you said and it worked, and also she said yes, you’re a genius, holy shit, wait, who’s this?”  
“Ow! Dammit, Shadow, get off! You’re too big to be doing this!”

There’s additional tussle as Spark tries to throw his sibling off, inadvertently knocking him back over. You stay well away from them until they’re both on their feet, and as they straighten out their clothing, you’re struck by how alike they look, as if they were the same person simply at different ages. Shadow’s a tad shorter than Spark, slightly paler, and just beginning to fill in the gangliness puberty had rushed on him. His hair is longer; not quite long enough to tie back, but no longer short enough to keep out of his eyes, and it has more wave to it. It’s the same pale gold as his brother’s, and his eyes are just as vividly blue, if slightly rounder with youth. Watching him smile is like watching Spark smile, and your heart does an awkward, enchanted little flutter at the thought of Spark looking just like this as a teenager.

Another set of footsteps approaches around the corner and an older woman smiles as she lays eyes on Spark. You do a double-take when you realize her hair is four different shades of purple and blue.

“Hi, honey, glad you could make it. Shadow, take their coats. Just leave your boots on the side.”

As you hand off your coats, introductions are made around, and Spark gives his brother one last shove. Shadow grins and offers you a respectable handshake before turning to the closet to start hanging your outerwear. The woman is Spark’s and Shadow’s mother, and Mystic gym leader Jasper. She insists you call her Jazz and hugs you and Spark in turn, kissing you both on the cheek. She’s almost your height, slim, and well-toned in a way that said she led a very active lifestyle. Her grey eyes express warmth and affection. She smells of seawater, patchouli, and something oily, and her laugh is as bright and bold as her hair. You imagine she must have been the kind of girl that would turn heads every time she laughed. She probably still is.

“How was the drive?”  
“Good. Everything’s clear out there,” Spark replies.  
“They’re calling for a big one tonight, and my shoulders agree. You’re welcome to take the spare room.”

Shadow tidies the boots on the rubber mat and pipes up:

“Mum made a rink out back. Can you skate?”  
“Me? Kinda. It’s been a while.”  
“That’s ok, we’re all good skaters. Someone will help you.”

“We’ll be fine, mom. Where’s dad?”  
“Still cooking. Hope you’re both hungry!”  
“Oh, right. Here’s wine for the meal. Thanks so much for having me over.” You offer the slim canvas bag printed with seasonal gold and silver.  
“Happy you could make it. Thanks, dear.”  
“Is Sandy still coming? We brought gifts, by the way.”  
“Oh, Sparky, you’re so sweet. They can go in the living room, you know where. Your sister’s flight’s been delayed, and I imagine she’ll want to check in at the hotel first.”

“Jazzie, can you taste this for me?”

Jasper, Shadow, and Spark turn towards the male voice at the back of the house. Jasper snickers.

“Yes, dear, just welcoming our kid and his girlfriend.”  
“Hi, kid! Hi, girlfriend!”  
“Hey, dad!”  
“Hi, Micah!”

Jasper gives you all a bemused smile and a gently ushering gesture.

“Drop the gifts and go tour the house or something. Meet back in the dining room in half an hour?”  
“Sure.”  
“C’mon, I’ll show you where to leave it. What’d you bring, anyway?”

Shadow leads the way into the living room as Jasper retreats to assist her husband. Just off the hallway, the living room is the length of the house, stretching back into a dining room and beyond that, offers a glimpse into the kitchen at the back. There’s a fire crackling cheerily in the fireplace and the mantle is caked in seasonal decorations and family photos. Of the pictures of the boys, you can’t tell which are of Spark and which are Shadow; only a couple of shots have them together, Shadow clearly the younger and smaller of the two. The third and eldest you assume is Sandy, quite a tomboy as a child, though a formal portrait of her in graduation robes shows she’s grown into a true beauty.

Spark catches up and crouches beside you, turning your attention to a dark lump on a cushion just far away enough from the flames to avoid catching. He coos and lightly strokes the lump, revealing it to be a sleepy old vulpix.

“That’s mom’s starter from way back,” Shadow explains. “Cinnamon’s retired now, living the good life.”  
“Wow, your mom’s starter? She must be so well-cared for.”  
“If she had evolved, she would outlive all of us. Ninetails have a crazy long lifespan. As it is, she’s way older than most vulpix ever get.”  
“Jazz didn’t want to evolve her?”  
“Cinnamon didn’t want to evolve. She’d run and hide if anyone brought out a fire stone too close to her.”  
“Aww, poor thing.”

The fox licks her jaws and noses at Spark’s hand, then gives a few polite licks and wags her tails. Her once vivid russet coat has dulled and her eyes have a cloudy cast to them. Spark smiles and strokes her ears.

“Her eyes have gotten worse. We figure she’s legally blind by now. The clinic don’t even want to try surgery because she might not wake up.”  
“She’s still eating well? No trouble going out?”  
“Yeah, she’s good.”  
“Then let her be. She’s managing. Right, Cin? You’re a tough old lady. Seeing is overrated.”

Cinnamon cuddles into Spark’s hand as he scratches her chin. He says nothing of her drool and wipes it on the cuff of his jeans before getting up.

Underneath the large front window is a long reading bench, and it’s loaded with wrapped boxes and gift bags. You and Spark set your contributions wherever you can find room and you give his hand a little slap for reaching towards the bag he knows is for him. Shadow snorts and Spark turns to him.

“So, what were you doing upstairs?”  
“Chatting.”  
“What about homework?”  
“Aw, come on.”  
“Who you chatting with?”

The boy starts to turn red, right up to his ears, and you can’t help feeling a tad sorry for him. A glance at Spark and his too-innocent grin confirms he’s taking just the tiniest bit of sadistic pleasure in embarrassing his younger sibling. Shadow looks away, apparently finding the wall very interesting.

“No one. Just some friends from school.”  
“Yeah, Spark, just some friends from school. Don’t be so nosy.”

Spark gives you both a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“Ok, I see how it is.”  
“FYI, I’m done all my homework, so lay off.”

Shadow’s confidence is met with Spark’s unconvinced stare.

“FYI, I don’t believe you.”  
“Ok, I have like one page of math left. But I’m basically done.”  
“Why don’t you let out Boomer and Dash?” You sigh.  
“Uh-huh, sounds about right. Alright boys, come on out.”

Boomer lands in Shadow’s outstretched arms and performs a quick inspection of the boy, rubs a cheek on his, and leaps off to go investigate the rest of the house. Dash barks and rears up on his hind legs; Shadow ruffles his fur and kisses his snout (you hear the _zap!_ of static several feet away). Dash licks the boy’s face, and once satisfied, retreats to sniff about the room. Shadow giggles and wipes a forearm over the drool, his hair floating on end above his head. You cover your smile behind your hand. Even the way he wipes his face is identical to Spark’s own gesture.

“Alright, so… wanna see the house?”  
“We will. You’re going back to your homework.”  
“Ugh, Spark-”

Spark says nothing and you glance at him. You know that bossy look.

“Fine, fine…”

Shadow makes a rude face back at his sibling and reluctantly leaves the room.

“You’re so bossy, big brother,” you tease Spark as Shadow’s steps retreat upward.  
“He wants to be a trainer, he’s going to have to put in the studies.”  
“But he’s like, sixteen already. Is he in a pokemon school?”  
“Eighteen, and no. He already took his gap year, but our parents want him to finish high school before he heads out.”  
“Oh. Is he aiming to be a gym leader, too?”  
“Dunno. Just wants to travel and get a feel for the world first, I think. Anyway, this here is the living room. We’ll be eating over there later. My dad’s an amazing cook.”  
“So I smell! You said he’s also a craftsman, right?”  
“Yup, carpenter.”  
“How did your parents meet?”  
“Mom paints, painted a lot more when she was younger without, y’know, kids, and she’d stop to buy supplies in this one town. She needed canvases mounted, so my dad built the frames for her. And then one day, he asked her out to dinner, and that was it.”  
“That’s so sweet! Sounds like they’re still each other’s best friend.”

Spark smiles.

“They are. C’mon, I’ll show you her studio.”

He leads you out of the living room and down the hall, around a turn and through a closed door on the other side of the house. When the lights flick on, you’re presented with a room full of easels, and paintings in various stages of completion. The far wall was mainly made up of windows looking out onto a sheen of what had to be that ice rink Shadow had mentioned. Empty jars and cans held brushes, tubes of paint, and other supplies you didn’t know the names of. The smell of oil and turpentine is stronger here, and you realize that’s the smell you picked up on Jasper when she hugged you. It’s not unpleasant. The bare walls were hung with a few unframed canvasses and reference materials were taped up wherever there was space. The canvases all depicted fantastic natural scenes, nowhere that looked like any place you knew. You pause in front of a scene of a waterfall overlooking a lone cottage that is nestled among trees turning shades of red and gold in the valley below.

“Wow, your mom’s so talented, a real artist. Why didn’t she pursue this?”  
“She did for a while. Money gets tight when you’re training on the road, so she’d sell a painting here and there to keep food in her belly. But after my sister was born, she had to think about what was better for the family, not necessarily what she wanted.”  
“But these could sell for thousands apiece, I’m sure! Look at this scenery, it’s gorgeous.”  
“It’s not a stable income. On top of caring for your kid, when do you make time to paint? Having a gym means regular income, regular hours, even childcare. Painting means being alone in here for hours and hoping you make a sale that month.”  
“Yeah, I guess… Did you ever try painting?”

Spark glances at a spot on the wall hidden under a leaning stack of frames waiting to be canvassed. He moves them aside, unveiling a taped-off patch of wall low to the floor that had remained white long after the rest of the room had been repainted. The tape is old and beginning to peel, but within its boundary are the garish smears and splatters of a color-happy child.

“I apparently called this one ‘poopie-head’ after my sister. I was two. We had just moved here.”

You giggle and Spark grins unabashedly.

“Very interesting choice of color. I can feel your rage in the liberal use of red and yellow, but also your artistic merit in the application. The green handprint with smiley face is a nice touch.”  
“What can I say, I’m a natural genius.”

The rest of the main floor has a powder-room and an entrance to the basement, which is divided into one-half storage, and the other half finished and kitted out as a tv and rec room. You reminisce about old videogames that were popular when you were kids as you follow Spark up to the second level. His rear demands a playful smack leading you up the stairs.

“So, yeah. Bathroom, my parent’s room, Sandy’s room is now the guest room, that used to be my room, probably also now a guest room or something, and that’s Shadow’s room. You don’t wanna see his room.”

“I can hear you!”  
“Glad your ears work.”  
“Can I see your old room?”  
“Sure, but I don’t know if anything is still in there…”

You pause in the doorway as he turns on the light and trails off.

“Oh. It’s all here.”

The walls are pale blue with borders of pokemon footprints, and plastered in magazine clippings about pokemon, exotic landscapes, girls in bikinis, and something with an obscure signature. The shelves and desk are dust-free. Outdated magazines are still piled on the desk along with a textbook, some pencils, a sketchbook, and a framed picture of Spark looking quite young, still in his grade-school uniform. The bed looks freshly made. The shelves have a few trophies and medals hanging from them. Amongst them is another photo, this one of Spark as a teenager; soaked in sweat and cheering victoriously. The background and his shirt both indicate his competition in the League Tournament some ten years earlier. Behind him, Dusty as a pigeotto is mid-landing, her wings and tail flaring, talons outstretched. You pick up the frame and examine it proudly.

“You look amazing. How far in were you?”  
“That’s when I beat the quarter-finals to qualify for the semis. I failed making it to finals.”  
“Spark, that’s incredible. You didn’t fail to make finals, you proved that you were one of the ten best. In the entire region. That’s like making silver in the Olympics.”

He smiles bashfully.

“Anyway, I promised myself I’d try, and if I didn’t make it, I’d become a gym leader.”  
“Couldn’t you try again?”  
“Pro trainers don’t qualify, and once a gym leader, you never will. Conflict of interest, plus you’re inherently overqualified.”  
“Oh, right. Forgot that rule.”  
“But it’s ok, I really gave it my best. I’m never going to look back on that Tournament and regret it.”  
“Good, you should be proud. I’m proud.”  
“I am. Has your dad ever competed?”  
“Dunno. He rarely calls or writes. When he does show up out of the blue…”

You set the frame back down and give Spark a smile. It feels forced.

“I don’t want to talk about him, ok? I like learning about your family, and you before I knew you.”

He looks like he wants to say something and decides not to. You know enough of his penchant for curiosity to appreciate him not digging for more about your dad.

“I’m honestly surprised this is all still here. I haven’t been here in years.”  
“It looks like you left so much of your stuff behind. Didn’t you want to take it with you?”

Spark looks around, his gaze lingering on mementos of the past.

“I guess I forgot. I came home in a hurry when I found out I’d been accepted to the school –gym leader academy- and I just threw everything that was essential into a couple of boxes and ran off again. By the time I graduated, I had a place of my own, and then I bought the gym…”

He reaches for a hanging medal and grasps it, strokes his thumb over the engraving on the face.

“Maybe… Maybe I ran off too fast.”  
“We could take some stuff home with us. Well, maybe not _them_ -”

He turns when you gesture to the bikini babes taped up around his bed. He laughs and you crack a smile.

“Sure, I can leave them behind. Do you have a bikini?”  
“I have a bikini, and it’s really cute.”  
“I’m going to have to see you in this cute bikini.”  
“You planning to shoot your own pinups?”  
“Hunt, shoot, maul a little-”  
“Spark, your baby brother can hear us.”

“I’m not listening!”

You both snicker like a pair of naughty schoolchildren and he concludes the tour, asking you to remind him to come back and pick up some of his things before you leave. Spark leans into Shadow’s room on your way back downstairs.

“Shadow, are you dropping eaves again?”  
“I totally wasn’t listening to you guys talking about sexy stuff.”  
“Right, and I’m a redhead. Congrats on your girlfriend.”  
“She’s not really my girlfr- ugh! …Thanks.”  
“Use condoms.”  
“Oh, my god, Spark, _really_?”  
“You’re an innocent child. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t try to protect you?”  
“You’re seriously worse than dad.”  
“It’s in the job description. I don’t make the rules.”  
“Ok, whatever. Go away.”  
“Dinner’s almost ready.”  
“Ok. Go.”

Spark snickers as he meets you on the stairs. You give him a teasing smile.

“You’re such a good brother, but damn, you’re embarrassing.”  
“He’ll live.”  
“He seems to look up to you a lot.”  
“It’s why I badger his ass.”  
“Do you ever call him?”  
“Yup. Remind him to be a good human, and not forget his schoolwork. Help with the girls. Pokemon facts. You know, brotherly stuff. Sometimes he comes into town and hangs out at the gym to watch.”  
“I’m really glad you guys are close. It’s nice.”

The dining room walls have a hand-painted border of the lunar phases and several constellations, and the ceiling is subtly painted to resemble looking through tinted glass at the midday sky. It’s beautifully surreal, and with the added candles on the table, you feel like you’ve traveled back in time to when whole villages would share the solstice dinner in a great hall, together for warmth, safety, and good spirits. Spark helps you pull your chair in before ducking into the kitchen to ask for something to bring out. He returns with a bottle of chilled red and a cork-pull. Jasper follows him a moment later with a large bowl of steaming mashed sweet potatoes.

“Anything I can help with?”  
“No, thanks, honey, we’ve got it.”  
“Wanna pour the wine?”

You reach to accept the opened bottle from Spark. Jasper pauses and leans over to look at Spark’s hand. You feel your gaze grow wide and almost fumble the bottle. The elder woman sighs and rolls her eyes, then turns back toward the kitchen. You yank the bottle toward you and set it hastily on the table before you really do drop it.

“Too heavy?” Spark asks, holding out the glasses next.  
“Your mom just saw the bruise on your hand,” you hiss urgently.  
“So?”

You give him an _I told you so_ look and he shrugs.

“Stop stressing about it, it’ll be fine. I’m heading back for more.”

You pour the glasses and while no one’s around, gulp yours down and pour another serving before putting the bottle aside.

The sound of little claws on hardwood precludes Boomer’s arrival, scaling up onto the chair beside you to peer across the table. Jasper returns with a platter of assorted hot meats covered by a glass top, Spark following with gravy and a bowl of rice.

“Did you tell Shadow?” she asks Spark.  
“Yeah, he’s being a teenager.”

She makes an unimpressed sound and leaves for the hallway. A moment later you hear her shout up the stairs for Shadow to come down. Spark snickers. Boomer perks when mother and younger son approach the table again. Shadow plunks himself down next to Boomer and scoops up the pikachu to cuddle. You have another sip of your wine and smile at the pair.

“How’s school going?”  
“S’ok. I’m graduating soon. Can’t wait to be free.”  
“I hear you’re heading out to train.”  
“Yup.”  
“Where do you want to go first?”  
“Oh, I worked that all out like a year ago. I’m leaving right after graduation, so I’m going to head into the range first, before the weather gets really bad.”  
“The Unovan range? Isn’t that really dangerous?”  
“Winter and spring are the worst times. Lot of snow and avalanches the higher you go, and when it melts, there are mudslides up top and flash flooding in the lowlands. Summer’s the best time to go, and there’s a lot growing that people can eat, too. As long as I’m heading into the flats by September, I’ll be alright. Where did you go on your gap year?”  
“I never took one.”  
“What?! Why??”

Shadow’s expression was about equal parts pity and horror, like he couldn’t conceive of anyone not taking their gap year when offered. Boomer echoes his tone and blinks up at you, ears perked.

“I just wasn’t that into pokemon. I wanted to go to camp with my friends and study.”  
“But it’s a free year off!”  
“Shadow, don’t be rude,” Jasper interjects. “Not everyone takes their gap year, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Jasper is doling out bowls of salad and hands one over to her son. It’s heavy on the cherry tomatoes.

“That’s for Boomer. Don’t let him stain the chairs.”  
“Pika?!”

Shadow pushes his plate back and sets Boomer on the table. He sniffs the bowl and plucks out a gleaming red fruit to begin eating.

“Do you like pokemon now?” Shadow asks, then adds; “Kinda funny you’re with my brother, of all people. Our family’s crazy about pokemon.”  
“Yeah, I noticed. I guess I’m alright. I don’t think I could ever know as much about them as you guys, but I’m learning little by little.”

“Who you calling crazy?”

An older man wearing a bandana over a curling auburn ponytail brings out another platter of food and gives you and Shadow a wink. Jasper introduces you, now that you’re face to face. Micah’s vivid blue eyes are crinkled with cheer and you know exactly where Spark and Shadow got that easygoing smile from. His build is that of someone used to working hard and lifting heavy things. He’s quite tall -would have been as tall or taller than Spark in his youth- and his hands envelope your own in a warm handshake, the palms calloused from his woodworking.

“If anyone’s crazy, it’s this fabulous woman. Dunno why she married me,” Micah laughs and gives Jasper a playful elbow.  
“I dunno either, but you gave me three kickass children, so you’re obviously good for something.”  
“My framing wasn’t good enough?”  
“Ehh, you’re getting a little shoddy in your old age.”

Jasper’s giggle becomes a yip when Micah grabs her in a headlock and kisses her colorful hair. She clutches at his forearm but doesn’t seem to struggle much. He’s easily half a foot taller than her.

“Alright, alright; your food’s good too!”  
“That’s what I like to hear.”

Micah lets his wife go with one last kiss and returns to the kitchen, directing everyone to get seated and help yourselves. Jasper minces a selection of meats onto a salad plate and brings it to Cinnamon over by the fire. Dash gets up to follow her back and she prepares a plate for him as well.

“Where’s Blue?” Spark asks, taking his seat between you and Shadow. He reaches under the tablecloth to stroke your thigh.  
“Didn’t want to come in,” Jasper answers.  
“He’s still out back?” Shadow sounds surprised.  
“Having the time of his life in those snow drifts. Who am I to rain on his parade?”  
“He’s a vaporeon, mom. He’d like that, too.”

Jasper snickers and reaches for her wine.

“Your sister’s made it to the hotel. She’ll be here eventually.”  
“What about Ray?”  
“They needed him for something at the factory, had to fly back at their connection. She came alone.”

From the briefing in the car, you knew Ray was Sandy’s husband. They both worked in pokeball engineering in Johto. Though she lived far away now, Spark and Sandy had only been about four years apart, and had been close growing up until Shadow unexpectedly came along.

Dishes and plates are passed around to be filled. Micah returns to the table, face freshly washed and hair undone, curling around his shoulders –now uncovered, you can see it’s shot through with thin streaks of silver, and his eyebrows are notably more grey-brown than auburn. Shadow relocates Boomer to the corner of the table so he can get at his own plate. As the filled plates circulate back to their proper settings, everyone quiets down and begins to eat. Spark nudges your knee under the table; you smile discretely around your fork and nudge him back. When the offer for a second pour of wine goes out, the chatter picks up again and questions are directed at you with regards to your work, surprise that you’ve moved so far, interest in your hobbies. And then comes the question you’d dreaded since Spark had offered the invitation. He smoothly takes over to answer and you turn your gaze away, ashamed to be lying to his parents, if only by omission.

“We met at a cafe. Turned out we live pretty close to each other. Small world, isn’t it?”  
“Y-yeah, we just got to talking. You know how it goes.”

You hope nobody picks up on your nerves.

“Isn’t that nice? Beats those dating apps, if you ask me,” Jasper laments. “If my apprentices spent as much time training as they did trying to get a date on those things, they could win the next League Tournament.”  
“Yeah, meeting people is hard.”  
“Meeting _good_ people is even harder,” she agrees.

“I’m gonna enter the next Tournament and win it!”  
“Shadow, worry about your badge count first. It’s a rough process.”

Shadow rounds on his brother with a fierceness that you fear might escalate into an actual fight. Spark, in contrast, is unruffled.

“What, you think I can’t do it?”  
“Not saying you can’t, but you have so much to do before you get there. Don’t try and take the easy way.”  
“You’re such a killjoy. You afraid I’ll actually make finals?”  
“Shadow, I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” you try to diffuse the argument.  
“Spark took on the League at sixteen!”  
“So? There’s no age limit.”  
“ _So??_ So, I’m already two years past that! I have so much catching up to do.”

Spark sighs and reaches for his wine. Micah scoops another helping of sweet potato and looks at his younger son as he returns the spoon to the bowl.

“Shad, your brother also quit school and never came home after his gap year.”  
“Nearly died a few times. I hated hearing about all the risks you took,” adds Jasper. “Definitely weren’t eating well, either. Dunno how you got so tall.”  
“Yeah, but he’s a gym leader now.”  
“And I can’t really be anything else.”

You rest your fork and knife and turn your full attention to the conversation, to Spark.

“What do you mean you can’t be anything else? You love your job.”  
“Yeah, I do. But if anything happened, if I wanted a change for whatever reason, it would mean having to quit, go back to school. It’d be a few years of nothing but; no career, limited budget to keep things going.”

Micah shakes his head.

“You’re smart and intuitive. You always were a shoe-in for the Instinct division. I can’t imagine you would be as happy anywhere else, kiddo.”

Jasper nods.

“That’s true. Though quitting the League comes with a nice severance, it won’t last you forever. Are you having second thoughts, Sparky?”  
“No, not at all. Just thinking out loud.”

You pick up your cutlery and continue eating, chewing over that information. You privately know what he’s not saying; he’d be of no help to you, financially, might even need to rely on you. And there would be no guarantee of anything becoming of it after all that investment. You swallow hastily as a thought strikes you.

“Wait, you almost died? When?!”

The family laughs at your delayed reaction.

“We didn’t hear about it for months,” Micah sighs. “It’s why Shad’s hitting the range in the _summer_.”  
“Spark?”  
“I started the ascent in November. Probably wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had.”

Spark looks anything but contrite. If anything, the corner of his mouth curling says he’s rather proud of the whole debacle.

“Probably?!”

Jasper stills her cutlery. That temper looks familiar…

“He sends us a letter casually saying ‘by the way, last year, I got lost on a hostile mountain chain, blown down a few crevices, and just barely, _repeatedly_ evaded starvation and frostbite.’ Did I miss anything?”  
“Or the time he went into the midnight forest,” Micah adds.  
“Hey, I didn’t go for fun. My friend got lost.”  
“Still don’t know why you didn’t call a ranger. That’s standard procedure.”  
“Dusty was pinging me overhead. I was fine.”  
“How did your friend get lost in there?” Shadow asks.  
“Shadow, don’t you get any ideas. You kick the League’s ass and then you can go,” Jasper sips her wine with an air of finality. You’d seen your mother and aunts do that when arguing with you or your cousins. Had to be strictly a mom thing.  
“That’s not fair!”  
“Of course it’s not. I had no idea what your brother was doing, but I know you.”  
“You can’t stop me once I’m out there.”

The table becomes uncomfortably quiet. Shadow looks determined and mildly pissed, rather like Spark in the middle of a tough battle.

“He’s right.”

All eyes turn to Spark. Jasper’s hiding her expression behind her glass and Micah looks like he’s about to interrupt. Spark continues:

“You’re right, Shadow. We can’t stop you. You’re going to leave home and do what your gut tells you. You’re going to do what trainers have always done for thousands of years. But it doesn’t mean we won’t worry, or try to put you off it. Mom didn’t say you can never go until you beat the League.”  
“I said exactly that.”  
“What you _meant_ was not to go until his team are strong enough to keep him safe. Right?”

Jasper sips her wine and declines to comment. You wonder what other arguments Spark’s won against her with his brutal logic. Being the mother of a trainer this headstrong must have been hard; no wonder Shadow’s chomping at the bit.

“Point is, know your limits. Every good trainer does.”  
“You didn’t.”  
“No, I didn’t. I was stupid. You wanna be stubborn and do exactly what I did, or you wanna be smarter? You wanna be _about_ as good as me, or you wanna be better?”

Do you think he talks to his apprentices like this?  
I sure hope so. Kinda sexy.  
He’s going to be such a good father someday.  
He doesn’t even rise to Shadow’s bait. How the hell does he do it?  
Check out his parents, though. They have such a great relationship.  
I would really like that.

Micah clears his throat and asks if anyone wants seconds, clearly hoping to change the topic. You take him up on the offer and he looks relieved.

“Good, I love a lady who eats.”  
“Good cooking makes it even easier!”

Micah laughs.

“You know, there’s a proverb related to trainers: A full heart keeps the stomach satisfied.”  
“So, kinda like, ‘home is where the food is?’”  
“Something like that. Home-cooked food with family and friends around the table is like a beacon of light in the dark for a trainer, when all they’ve had for weeks or months is crap in a can, or whatever was passably growing by the trail, or bland restaurant food. It reminds you that someone cares for you.”

Jasper laughs, her voice echoing around the room merrily. Micah passes you your newly filled plate.

“Well, that’s sure part of what kept me around!”  
“Never would have guessed. Want more?”  
“Yes, I do.”

While Micah’s heaping hers up, Jasper catches your eye and grins.

“That proverb’s right, though. I know when Spark would drop in, I could almost hear his stomach growling down the road.”  
“He doesn’t cook much, even now. Not surprised he was hungry.”  
“Hey, whose side are you on? I just saved it up for visiting because you make good food.”

You and Jasper share a look and burst into giggles.

“Sorry, Spark, I think your mom would know better. Food is home to you, isn’t it?”  
“Name me one trainer that isn’t true for?”  
“Ok, mister pizza pockets.”

Shadow laughs at that and slaps Spark’s arm.

“You still eat that crap!?”  
“Guilty pleasure. Let’s see how well you do.”  
“Dad’s been teaching me to cook.”  
“Well aren’t you lucky.”  
“I know I am.”

You almost choke, laughing into your napkin as the banter devolves into inarticulate, childish mimicry. Your sudden coughing turns Spark’s attention and he rubs your back.

“Hey, you ok?”  
“Nyu otay??”

Shadow carries on, determined to have the last say. Spark swats him without looking. You nod and swallow. Micah sighs and shakes his head.

“I swear, watching you two is like watching Spark argue with a mirror.”  
“I’ll second that,” you agree, regaining your bearings and reaching for your wine.  
“Sure you’re alright?”  
“Mm, just laughed at the wrong time.”

Spark leans over to kiss your temple and it gets you smiling for a whole new reason.

“Hey, what’s up with your hand?”

Shadow grabs Spark’s hand, tugging him away from you.

“What the- Get off!”  
“What caused this bruise? Really weird. Did a pokemon bite you?”  
“Wouldn’t you just love to know.”  
“I do! Was it a Mime? Looks like human tee-”  
“You really wanna know?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Oh, for Arceus’ sake, you two, enough!” Jasper exclaims. “You’re both grown men; act like it.”

You’ve never been more thankful for an interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Abelia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abelia) is a type of pale-pink flower. This is the first time I've actually named Spark's ex / Tanny's wife. I was originally going to go with Salvia, but it sounded too close to Sylveon, and the meaning (healing) was ironically painful.
> 
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	11. You’re so cute right now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the night at Spark's family, there are a number of revelations. Emotions are high, so get your tissues ready! 
> 
> What season do you prefer? 
> 
> Is that... blood?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

After a collective effort to clear the table and help load the dishwasher, Jasper suggests you and the boys try out the skating rink, and see if you can’t drag Blue inside for his dinner. Shadow digs out the skates from a cupboard while Spark brings your coats to the back door.

“Mom’s got really small feet,” Shadow mumbles. “Maybe Sandy’s old blades are in here?”  
“Won’t she want to use them when she arrives?”  
“No clue when she’ll get here. Don’t worry about it, she won’t mind.”

Your initial attempt to stand after lacing your skates proves wobbly and Spark tugs you back down on your rear before you snap an ankle. As he’s re-tying them tighter, Shadow confidently hops off the stoop into the snow below. Spark’s hands are quick and sure, and he gets your skates re-tied and his own laced in no time.

“Can’t have them too loose, you’ll never keep your balance. How’s that feel?”  
“Tight, but not painful… I can’t move my foot at all. Is that ok?”  
“Yeah, that’s normal. Ever skated before?”  
“Ish? I can’t guarantee I know what I’m doing.” You grin sheepishly.  
“It’s ok, whatever you do know will come back to you. Let’s get out there and give it a try.”

He holds your bicep as you mince your way down the three wooden steps into the snow. It’s more compact than it looks, and as you trudge through it, it becomes more and more solid, sloping down towards the glistening sheet of ice. There are wooden posts around the makeshift rink, hung with garlands of colorful lights. It’s much darker this far from the house, but the small lights are enough to see by.

“Shadow said your mom made the rink?”  
“Yep, every year. Sometimes in the summer, too, but it never lasts that long. Helps when you specialize in ice and water pokemon.”  
“Heh, no kidding. Skating outside in the summer must be awesome.”

Spark steps onto the ice and turns to face you. You glance at his feet, wondering how he did that so easily.

“Alright, I’ll hold you. All you have to do is step on. If you think you’re going to fall, lean forward and I’ll catch you.”

You hold your breath and tightly grip Spark’s hands as your feet leave the safety of the snow for the unpredictable ice.

“There you go. Now, give a little push forward with your left foot.”  
“Like this?”  
“Yeah, good. You’re doing great. Now with your right foot -don’t lift too high.”  
“You can skate backwards?!”  
“Yep. Left foot again.”  
“You sure you’re not actually pulling me?”  
“Nah, you’re doing it all yourself.”

Behind Spark, you can see Shadow with a hockey stick and puck, dribbling along the ice. He makes it all look so easy. Your pace is timid, but sure enough you’re moving, and Spark’s not pulling you -hey, you’re really skating! Your white-knuckled grip on Spark’s cuffs eases up as your confidence increases. The other side of the rink is fast approaching. You’re quite proud to have made it this far.

One of your blades hits a bump in the ice and you wobble, and panic floods you for a heartbeat. Spark braces your arms to steady you.

“You’re alright, I got you,” he reassures you.

You blow out your held breath, eyes wide. Spark’s stopped you both to let you find your bearings.

“How you holding up? Not so bad, is it?”  
“Your family? They’re awesome. I’m really glad you invited me.” You grin and relax your grip again. “The skating is alright.”  
“You’re doing great. Shadow really likes you. Dad, too.”  
“You asked them?”  
“Nah, I can tell. Mom’s a little harder to read sometimes, but I’m willing to bet she’d be glad to see you again.”

Suddenly, your face doesn’t feel so cold. Your smile softens and you look away, glancing around the yard painted a rainbow of colors by the lights. Your breathing forms billowing clouds. Spark gives your forearms a little tug forward and you continue on your circuit of the rink.

“I hope your sister can make it. I’d really like to meet her.”  
“Are you thinking of going home for new year’s?”  
“Nah, I decided I didn’t want to go anywhere this winter. Maybe in the spring. Oh, but Rose is hosting a bash if you wanna go. Her parties are a blast.”  
“Oh.”

He looks a little disappointed at that.

“Did you have any plans?” you enquire, wondering if he’d had something in mind, and your invitation had stepped on his toes.  
“…Just curious.”  
“Y’know, mom sent us a card.”  
“Us?”  
“Yeah, I told her about you. It’s hanging on the clothesline in the living room with all the rest.”  
“Oh. Then she knows about us.”

He smiles faintly and you feel something click into place; he’d been pushing to meet your family. It makes you feel a little warmer thinking about it, about how he wants to move your relationship in that direction. It wasn’t just a casual matter of letting your friends and colleagues in on the affair, or claiming titles: Family meant something more. And while you weren’t ready to tie your hands, getting involved with each other’s families felt like a natural progression.

“I’m thinking of taking a week during the spring festival. Do you think you’d be able to make it?”  
“I can pull a few strings,” he replies, and though his words come out neutral, his face betrays his happiness, if only a little.  
“Chances are, my dad won’t be there, though.”  
“You don’t have a good relationship with him, do you?”

A kneejerk denial is hanging on the tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, the words cower from the cold and Spark’s scrutiny. _Honest; got to be honest!_

You look away, at some speck of lint on his jacket, and shake your head.

“I understand. I mean, I think I get it now.”  
“What?”  
“That time we had that fight, and you said you didn’t trust yourself to trust me, or something to that effect. I’m not going to walk out on you or neglect you like he did. I want you to understand that.”  
“I… I do, just…”  
“I promise that I’m here for you. Doesn’t matter if your hair gets in my face in bed, or you’re yelling at the tv because of Game of Thrones. Doesn’t matter if your ex punches me, or your friends get mad at you. I will be here for you.”  
“Hey, I didn’t mean it like-”

You can’t help the smile on your face, or the embarrassed way you can’t quite meet his gaze.

“…Thanks. And sorry about my hair. I’ll tie it up from now on.”  
“It’s fine, only happened once so far.”  
“If you do meet my dad, I hope you don’t think badly of me.”  
“Why would I?”  
“Because I keep hoping he’ll change… But an electabuzz can’t change its stripes.”

Spark frowns, opens his mouth on the heels of your statement, and hesitates. After a moment to think his next words over, he finally says:

“Wanting your dad around doesn’t make you a bad person. Isn’t that what every kid wants?”  
“He called me on my twelfth birthday to wish me well and ask if I had picked where I was going on my gap year. I told him I was going to school, that I was going to make something useful of myself, unlike him. I told him he should come home and forget this bullshit of being a trainer and be with me and mom instead. Get a real job, take responsibility for his family, raise me like a father should-”

You halt before your voice gets any louder and take a gulp of frigid air. You glance around, hoping Shadow didn’t hear you. You don’t see him on the ice. Softly, you continue:

“I just… I feel like a bad person for asking him to give up his dream for me. I could never ask you to do that.”  
“You’d never need to. I wouldn’t leave you in the position to have to ask in the first place.”

As you sniffle back unhappy memories and lie to yourself that it’s just the cold, you realize you’ve both stopped moving and are lingering in the center of the ice. Shadow appears over a dune, trekking across the snow and calling for Blue. You force a laugh.

“Sorry, I just killed the mood. Did your mom put these lights up? They’re really cute.”  
“I’m not sure. Hey, look, um… I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was so bad. I didn’t mean to be so pushy.”  
“It’s fine. I’ve dealt with it forever.”  
“You don’t have to deal with it alone.”

You skate closer and lean up as much as you can, worried trying to get on your toes would result in a painful accident. Spark gets the drift and complements the motion by leaning down and meeting your lips.

A chirp beside you startles you both and Spark braces your forearms before you lose your balance. An arm’s reach away stands a vaporeon, perfectly at home on the ice. His oiled pelt is slick, beads of melted snow glittering on it. The crest on his head and ruff flatten smoothly.

“Hey, Blue, where you been?”

The fin-like ears perk towards the sound of Spark’s voice. Blue chirps again, wags his mermaid tail. Spark whistles back and Blue steps closer with another unique vocalization.

“Mom’s got your dinner. Get your butt inside and eat.”  
“Blue!! Where have you been?!”

Shadow careens across the ice and grabs up the slick, amphibious body, blows a raspberry on Blue’s forehead as he glides towards the house. The vaporeon cringes and squirms to get free, sensing his freedom about to come to an end.

“You brat, you’re going inside. Winter will still be here after dinner.”

A chittering series of chirps is the vaporeon’s retort, but Shadow is already marching through the snow towards the back door.

“What a funny sound,” you remark with wonder. “I expected meows or barks like most eevee. That was really cute.”  
“There’s a recording someone did of a pod of rescued vaporeon schooling underwater. They sing like tiny humpback whales.”  
“Wow, that must be really pretty.”  
“Yeah, I’ll see if I can find it again. C’mon, let’s see what you can do now that Shadow’s off the ice.”

When you both return to the warmth of the house, the family are gathered in the living room, sipping hot drinks and picking over a table loaded with baked treats and chilled chocolate mousse. There’s a new face amongst them, though her features aren’t that different from Spark and Shadow. Sandy’s got strawberry-blonde hair in loose curls down her back, Jasper’s alert, grey-blue eyes, and attention-grabbing laugh. Her nose and cheeks are finely freckled. Cinnamon is curled up in her lap and being gently caressed, so you oblige to introduce yourself and lean in over the armchair’s side for a hug at her insistence. A camera flash goes off. Sandy spots her sibling behind you and her grin widens.

“Hey, Sparkles, how’s gym life?”  
“It’s great. Aren’t you too old to call me that?”  
“Pft, old? What, by four years?”  
“Did you get a little work done? I swear you had some wrinkles right here-”

Sandy ducks a little and swats his hand away.

“Ah-ah! I’m holding Cin. I have immunity.”  
“You wish. Where’s Ray? He ditch you for a newer model?”

Sandy turns to you.

“Do you see this? This is what I get for flying six-thousand kilometers.”  
“Hey, don’t drag her into it, brat.”  
“Sure thing, _Sparkles_.”

Jasper interrupts to hand Spark a bowl of chocolate mousse and point him at the opposing sofa with a stern look. He takes the unspoken order in stride and his seat as well. Then Jasper turns to you and sighs, rolling her eyes.

“They never grow up. Want something warm, honey? Hot chocolate? Tea? Coffee?”  
“Coffee would be great. Is there anything I can-”  
“Next time. Grab some treats and make yourself comfy. Spark, chocolate?”  
“Thanks, mom.”  
“Please don’t antagonize your sister, you know flying makes her sick.”  
“…Yes, mom.”

Jasper gives you a smirk and departs to take care of your drinks. You turn your attention to the spread on the coffee table and crouch to take a plate and load it up. Micah is sharing the loveseat beside you with a growlithe sprawled in his lap, his hand scratching bared belly. One orange rear leg slowly kicks now and again.

“How was skating?” Micah enquires of you.  
“Fun! What little I knew came back to me. Spark helped me along most of the way. I think I’d like to keep practicing, actually.”  
“Yeah, just like riding a bike, isn’t it? Oh, Shiro, say hello, buddy!”

The growlithe barks twice and wags his tail. You leave your plate on the table and offer the back of your hand for a sniff before attempting to pet him.

“Ohh~ Handsome boy! Yours?”  
“Mine,” Sandy answers. “Substitute husband for the trip. Ray’s factory had a crisis, so he had to turn back.”  
“Aww, that’s too bad. Shiro, are you a good hubby?”

Shiro’s tail is a swishing blur and he licks your hand. Sandy snaps a photo. As you giggle, he tries to get at your face and you lean away with a comment about your makeup. Micah and Sandy strike up what sounds like an ongoing conversation about Sandy doing some work on her home in Johto. You wipe your hand on your jeans and get up, taking your sweets to the sofa. Spark’s trading his empty bowl for a new one and wandering over to the windows. You spy Shadow laying on the rug by the fire, furiously tapping into his holocaster and occasionally snickering at private amusements. You take a bite of some nut bread and the taste of citrus and hunks of nut surge across your tongue. You hurriedly chew to clear your mouth and blurt out:

“This is amazing! Micah, do you bake, too?”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
“Damn shame you’re married.”

Micah and Sandy laugh. A crinkle from across the room jerks your gaze to the bench strewn with gifts.

“ _Spark_!”  
“We’re opening them soon, Sparky. Come on, you’ll survive,” Micah reminds him.  
“Can’t I just shake it a little?”  
“No.” You stuff your mouth again. “Weave if awone.”  
“You’re a bigger puppy than my Shiro.” Sandy turns to you. “Does he do this to you, too?” You shrug.  
“First I’ve seen. I’m going to have to strategize for his birthday. This is a major problem.”  
“Mom used to hide decoys to throw him off. She actually kept the gifts in her office at the gym.”  
“Hah! That’s a good idea. I could put my name on a filing cabinet at work.”

Jasper’s calling Blue as she crosses the dining room to rejoin you, a tray laden with several drinks in hand. Blue trots after her, chirping, followed by Dash yapping excitedly. Shadow calls to the two eevee and is pounced upon with contrasting battle-yips. Jasper hands out the drinks and gives Sandy a plate loaded with a little of everything from your dinner feast.

“Here, eat whatever agrees with you, honey,” Jasper says. “Shadow, your hot chocolate’s waiting.”  
“Co- Oof! Coming!”

Spark makes his way back to the sofa as Dash and Blue streak past and up the stairs, the sound of a rubber ball leading their attention. Shadow plunks down at the other end of the coffee table, still absorbed in his chat.

“Is this mine?” Spark points to a mug.  
“Sure, they’re both chocolate. Pass the other to Shadow, please.”

You accept your mug of coffee and take a sip. It’s spiked with some kind of sweet liqueur. You hum and lick your lips. _Nummy!_ Spark takes a seat beside you with his second empty bowl of mousse and trades it for his hot chocolate. You reach out to place a hand on his knee and he covers your hand with his own, rests his fingers in the gaps between yours. Jasper takes up the camera that’s been circulating around the room and steals a photo of you both, catching Spark’s attention. He hams it up by ducking closer and kissing the corner of your mouth as you’re sipping your coffee, the mug concealing the kiss. Clever boy.

Sandy’s talking as she eats, and you tune in to hear the subject turn from more renovations to her travels and the last several hours of airports. She peppers her tale with dry humor and wry observations, the room intermittently erupting in laughter. In her lap, Cinnamon snores softly, one forepaw slowly flexing in a kneading motion. You wonder what she could be dreaming about. Jasper hefts up Shiro’s hindquarters and joins Micah on the loveseat, hands him the camera in her hand to snap a shot of Sandy cuddling her dear old Starter. The booze makes you feel pleasantly warm and a touch sleepy. You can’t remember the last time you felt this comfortable in a room full of strangers.

But they’re not. They’re Spark’s family. They might be your family someday.  
You’re the one who was so paranoid about jumping guns, now look at you.  
Come on, wouldn’t it be nice?

Sandy sets her plate aside and sips some soda. Jasper takes note of that with a sigh.

“That’s all? Can I get you something else?”  
“Sorry, no hard feelings.”  
“No, I’m just worried you haven’t had a decent meal in two days.”  
“Mom, I do eat. Airports have food, you know? Can’t help getting air-sick.”  
“Yeah…” Jasper sighs again.  
“Well that, and one other thing.”

Sandy reaches into the kangaroo pouch of her hoodie and tosses Jasper a pokeball. The older woman catches it easily and pauses, feeling for the energy in the ball.

“Huh. It’s empty. Is this a new prototype?”  
“Open it.”

Jasper rolls it over in her hand, examining it, and finally hits the button. Within is a tiny white shoe. Jasper plucks it free to examine and beside you, Spark startles you with an eruption of:

“WHAT?!”  
“…I’m going to be a grandma?” Jasper looks sweetly stunned. You wish you had your holocaster on hand to save that expression.  
“Surprise!” Sandy grins and gestures dramatically, arms wide.  
“I’m going to be an _uncle_?!”

Jasper grins, scooting out from under Shiro, and lithely hops over her husband’s legs to hug her daughter with a laugh. Shadow meets your surprised expression, and a sob turns you both to Micah now holding the shoe and gazing at it lovingly. Beside you, Spark sniffles and you look just in time to watch him wipe a cuff over the first tear streaking down his face.

“I’m an uncle?”

“Aw, dad, don’t cry!” Sandy laughs. “Shiro, down.”  
“I’m so happy for you, honey. How far?”  
“Just starting month four. It wasn’t all the flight making me sick, heh.”

Spark leaves your side to join his mother and sister and laughs through his tears.

“I’m so proud of you, Sands. I love you.”  
“Thanks, Sparkles. Love you, too.”  
“Shadow! You’re gonna be an uncle! Get over here.”  
“Wait, for real?”  
“Put your phone away, you’re missing all the news.”

Shadow skips around you and the table to join his siblings. You get up to hand Micah some napkins and help him get Shiro out of his lap. The dog is desperately confused about all the crying and outbursts and being told to get down, but not being allowed to because he’ll roll right into the food on the table. You wedge yourself between Micah and the table and pray the pup’s not a biter as you scoop him up with a grunt, then shuffle your way towards the fireplace where there’s room.

“Woah, Spark. What happened to your face, man?”

Your back goes ramrod straight as you hear those words and nearly drop the trusting canine in your arms. You turn Shiro sideways and let him hop down, feeling your heart in your throat.

“What is it- Oh, Mew, your eye! Where did this come from?”

You turn and look at Spark, realizing with a rapidly forming nausea of your own that he had cried off your makeup. He’s looking at you, both of you stunned speechless. This hadn’t been planned for. Your face cools with pallor as you blurt out:

“I… I’m sorry. We didn’t want you to worry.”

The rest of the family turns to you. You bite your lip, clutching the hem of your sweater in both hands, wishing Spark would say something. The fear of them thinking you had hurt him spurs you to elaborate quickly.

“M-my ex happened.”  
“Your ex?”  
“Spark, you picked a fight?” Micah sounds surprised.  
“He didn’t. I promise, it wasn’t him that started it. I’m so sorry to have gotten him involved.”  
“Nonsense, honey, did he ever hit you before?” Jasper asks.

You’re uncomfortably aware of the way she’s looking you up and down, as if hunting for damage through your clothes.

“Spark? Oh, my ex? N-no. Um, no, this was a jealous confrontation.”  
“What a show _that_ musta been,” Shadow remarks, giving you a grin. “Bet Spark gave it to him real good.”

“Holy Birds, Spark!” Sandy gasps as the family part around her and allow her a look at her brother’s face. “That’s some hit. Does it hurt? Do you need ice?”  
“I’m fine, just need to leave it be for now.”  
“Look at you, saving your woman from the bad guys… Alright, someone take Cin, I gotta go hug dad.”

Shiro wuffs and you realize he’s sitting beside you, gazing up at you with an easy doggy smile. It coaxes a little smile of your own, and while the family are busy hugging and crying and fussing over Spark’s black eye, you take a breath and relax your hands. The growlithe tilts his head back blissfully as you pet him. His creamy tail rhythmically thumps on the floor.

“Hey, hands to yourself, brat!” Spark’s complaint is met with Shadow’s snicker.  
“It’s so cool, I’ve never seen a real black eye. The movies don’t look like this.”  
“Pray you never get one. Kills your sinuses –Stop trying to touch it! I’ll bite you!”  
“Just once? I’ll get you another hot chocolate?”

You snort softly as you listen to the brothers’ banter over the rest of the chatter. Everyone’s moving around freely now, and Shadow’s quick steps retreat towards the kitchen. Shiro barks and you look up to see Sandy approaching, arms open and a kind smile on her face. Apparently, you’re to be included in the love-fest.

“Great makeup, by the way. You had us all going.”  
“Uh, thanks?”

She’s stronger than she looks and leaves you gasping. Jasper hugs you next, muttering about what a brute she thinks your ex is, followed by Micah who hugs you and kisses your forehead. He tells you he’s glad you’re both alright. Your throat tightens and you force your smile wider, demurely keeping your gaze on the floor.

By the time Spark makes it over, your chest feels tight and you feel overwhelmed. You grab his sweater and bury your face against his chest, trying to make yourself small and hidden from the rest of the room behind him. You try very hard to not give in to tears. Spark wraps his arms around you and whispers:

“See? They’re not mad… You ok?”

You’re not sure if you are, but you nod anyway. You hadn’t counted on this happening, on confronting the truth, on being accepted -much less loved so effortlessly. That brewing feeling of _missing_ that had started at the bottom of the driveway now feels carved open, raw and bloody. You’re afraid if you don’t concentrate on subduing it, you’ll start crying and won’t be able to stop. The thought of selfishly doing that strikes you as an option, and you cram it away as quick as you can.

Spark’s hand rubs over your shoulders, coaxing the tension out of them, and then his hand slips up under your hair and caresses the back of your neck. It’s easier to breathe when he’s touching you, when his body shields you and makes you feel small and protected. His voice is low and private when he speaks:

“Wanna go somewhere quiet and talk?”

You shake your head slightly.

“What’s wrong?”  
“I can’t. N-not now.”  
“Are you crying?”

Another shake.

“Ok,” he breathes. “It’s ok. You’re ok.”

He allows you some quiet (though he can’t help his sniffles) and keeps up the comforting petting. After a moment, he kisses the top of your head and asks if you want another coffee. You give a weak chuckle.

“That sounds pretty good.”

You gently push yourself away and let go of his sweater. He lets you pull free and lead the way back to the sofa. Your coffee’s lukewarm, but you chug it down anyway. Jasper, Sandy, and Micah are talking about the pregnancy. Sandy’s nursing a bowl of mousse.

“One hot chocolate. Now, let me poke it.”

Shadow sets the mug on the table in front of Spark and the conversation halts.

“Poke what?” Sandy enquires.  
“His black eye.”  
“Ew! Shad, you’re gross!”  
“Oh, for the love of…” Jasper rolls her eyes.  
“For science!”  
“Pretty sure science knows what a bruise feels like.”

You can’t contain your own morbid fascination as everyone watches Shadow poke Spark’s bruise. You fail to spot who snaps the photo to commemorate it.

“Ow.”  
“You are the weirdest,” Sandy sighs.  
“Feels kinda puffy…” Shadow observes.  
“Please get off my face, now.”  
“Right, well. How about those presents? Shadow, you’re up, so you get to go set them out.”  
“What? Now?”  
“Uh, yeah?”  
“But we always do it together.”  
“Spark’s crippled and I’m pregnant.”  
“I let you poke my face. You can do that much.”

Spark gives Sandy a cockeyed look and she grins back. Shadow huffs loudly and turns to the window seat; you briefly watch him read the names on the gifts and gradually sort them into piles. Spark sips his drink and puts his arm around you, both of you listening to his parents and sister talking. You sniffle and rub your nose, lay your temple against Spark’s shoulder. You’re glad nobody’s making too much of your embarrassing little freak-out. You’d definitely lose it if they said anything.

When Shadow announces his work is done, the family migrates to the rug and is directed to their respective piles. Nobody makes a move until everyone is comfortably seated; then the ceremony is over and pure, gift-wrapped carnage erupts. Boomer comes running and makes delighted sport of dashing under and through the bits of paper piling up, squeaking and chirruping. You sit quietly with your very own two bags -who knew you’d get any gifts at all?!- watching the family with amusement.

From one box, Micah unearths a set of chisels with elaborate grips. He examines them and smiles as he reads something engraved in the metal.

Shadow hoots as he withdraws an expensive new pack, sure to be put to use after graduation. Opening the main compartment, he peers in, then upends the pack, spilling several pairs of socks, and a pair each of hiking boots and utility gloves.

Sandy is gingerly unwrapping a small parcel of tissue paper. Underneath is a crystalline figure of a dragonair coiled around a boulder. Its eyes and dainty wings are painted gold and both forehead and throat are anointed with pearls. She holds it up to the light and turns it this way and that to watch it sparkle, lips parted with wonder.

Jasper is cradling an ornately-carved jewelry box, tracing the relief with her fingertips. What appear to be gym badges are inlaid around the lid. She looks lost in happy thought as she caresses them.

Beside you, Spark is quiet, barely moving. Before him is the bag he’d so persistently tried to get a peek into, and in his lap is a well-worn spread of black and gold leather. He’s staring at a name embroidered on the lining, touching it with his fingertips, and to your surprise, reaches up to wipe the back of a hand over his eyes in succession.

You touch his knee. When he looks at you, you’re taken aback by the raw emotion on his face.

“Spark-?”  
“Where did you find it?”  
“It was at a pawn shop. I had Bliz and Rose helping me try to track it down. It’s the right one, isn’t it?”

He nods, looks at the jacket again, strokes the gold trim on one lapel.

“There probably isn’t another one like it. It was my grand-dad’s. I figured I’d never see it again.”  
“I had no idea. Were you close?”

He nods.

“He passed away while I was on my gap year. It was really sudden. Nobody told me until I came home. They didn’t want to ruin the trip for me.” There’s a slight edge to his voice that betrays a lingering hurt.  
“I’m sorry. It’s good that you got it back, then. Part of him will always be with you.”  
“Long as I don’t lose it again.”  
“You know, if we sew a tracker chip into it, and connect the signal to your holocaster, it’ll show up on your GPS no matter where you are. You’ll never have to lose it again.”

He gives a weak, watery laugh and reaches for you, pulls you close and sniffles.

“Thank you so much. I’m definitely doing that as soon as I figure out how.”  
“You’re welcome. I’ll help you, ok?”  
“Ok.”  
“I know you’re happy, but try to stop crying, babe. You’re going to hurt your sinuses even more.”

That gets a genuine laugh and you kiss his neck and grin.

“Cold water will help your face. Your gifts will still be here, I promise.”  
“I could just open them fast right now-”  
“You’re oozing snot and your makeup is a mess. Please. Go un-drown yourself.”  
“Can’t I kiss you first?”

You yelp as Spark tries to lean in, and your recoil sends you sprawling backwards against the side of Jasper’s thigh. Spark cackles and backs off; you allow the family a laugh at your expense as you get up and apologize to Jasper; thankfully, she’d grabbed her badge-inlaid box out of the way just in time. Micah asks where Spark’s stomping off to and laughs when his son declares you won’t kiss his snotty face.

You elect to unwrap your own gifts in Spark’s absence and pick one of your two bags on a whim. Inside is a matching hat, mittens, and scarf set, all tastefully cream-colored and accented with artificial jewels. The tags are written in Kantonese and the logo is a curling, pastel text you can’t quite decipher, but you recognize it as a sought-after brand. You give the knits an indulgent squeeze and smile as your fingers sink into the soft, chunky yarn. _Mmm, squishy!_

The second bag contains -curiously enough- an apron. It has halter straps emerging out of a sweetheart neckline, a pocket across the bottom of the flared skirt, and “kiss the cook” embroidered in cursive across the chest, along with a farfetch’d wearing a chef’s hat. It wasn’t exactly gaudy or tasteless, but it was certainly unique and quirky. This was, without a doubt, from Spark. The inside is lined in a pale, complementary ditsy. A glint catches your eye as you examine your gift with a quirked brow and you spy a safety pin securing a bit of paper to the inside of the pocket. You unpin it and extract the paper, finding it to be a far larger sheet, folded twice. The paper is thick and high-end, printed with a very official-looking raised logo and watermark. No cheap photocopies here.

“Wow, this is the biggest mess we’ve made in years!” Shadow sounds pleased with the scale of destruction.  
“Ah, you opened my gift-” Sandy exclaims.  
“It’s from all of us, actually.”  
“What’s that you’re reading?”

You look up at Spark’s family all smiling at you and basking in their gifts. Boomer pauses to assess the situation before giving a battle-squeak and pouncing into a pile of tissue-paper. Shadow snaps a photo of him bounding through the mess.

“He got me cooking classes,” you say, and you can feel your mouth moving, but the shock makes the words feel like someone else is saying them.  
“Is that supposed to be a hint -ow!”  
“That’s lovely,” Jasper interjects. “Was that something you wanted?”  
“I…”

You stare at the certificate of enrollment in your hand and the part of your brain responsible for words has a seizure and clams up.

“Spark! Where’d you go? Get your ass in here,” Sandy shouts. “You owe your girlfriend an explanation!”  
“Coming!”

Spark returns, looking much tidier and no longer sniffling in a desperate bid to breathe. He hops onto the sofa to bypass wading through the paper and bags strewn around and sets himself down beside you again.

“What’s the drama?” he asks, pulling the jacket into his lap to stroke. “Didn’t you like the statuette I got you?”

“ _Who_ did you _murder_ for this?”

In a burst of movement, you’ve closed the distance between you, climbed halfway into his lap, and shoved the certificate against his nose.

Spark leans back and swats your hand down, revealing his smile.

“You were making such an effort to cook, and you even said you wanted lessons. I thought you’d enjoy it?” He glances at everyone’s face in turn and looks at you again, his smile becoming unsure. “No?”  
“Yeah, but _this_?! Do you know how expensive -how, how _long_ people wait just to apply?”  
“Who do you think catered the gym party?”  
“…W-what.”

“Dude, telling your girlfriend to cook? Sexist much?”  
“Shadow, be quiet.”  
“It is! What? What am I missing here?”

Spark shrugs and his smile regains its confidence.

“Never hurts to ask, and people can be surprisingly generous.”

You throw your arms around Spark with a cry of “you noble sonofabitch!” punctuated with a giddy squeal. Spark topples backwards and you think you hear Shadow complain again, but it’s drowned out by Spark’s laughter and Micah joking about the too-serious tension. You silence Spark with a kiss, giggling between kisses as you finally register the magnitude of his gift.

“I can’t believe you were paying attention to that. I can’t believe you got me these classes. Fuck. These guys are like, the best in the region. I can’t. I can’t do this, I’m nowhere near good enough to be in the same room. I can’t even mince fast! Holy shit, Spark. I don’t deserve this at all.”  
“You don’t wanna go? I’ll ask them to cancel-”  
“DON’T YOU DARE!”

He giggles at that and hugs you, kissing you again.

“You’re welcome, baby. I hope you have fun.”

Your grin becomes sly and tinged with mischief, and you rear back to smirk at him, albeit still rather manic with glee.

“Oh, you didn’t read it, did you?”  
“Briefly, to make sure they spelled your name right.”  
“I get to bring a friend.”  
“That’s great! Hey, maybe you could ask Aurora, like as a peace-offering? I bet she’d love to go.”  
“Nope.”  
“Oh. Then, which of your friends really wants to cook?”  
“You!”  
“Me?”  
“Yep. You’re coming with.”

You sit up and declare your search for a pen. Sandy has a beautiful new fountain pen that takes a moment of assembly and testing on a scrap of giftwrap to get working, but she hands it to you with a raised brow and quirked lips. You clear a space on the coffee table and lay the certificate down. Spark’s name is carefully written in next to yours.

“No more… chocolate pancakes… for either of us… ever again!”  
“Not unless I bring them to you in bed.”

Spark kisses your shoulder and you giggle. Done writing, you set the pen down and cup his face, turn to kiss the edge of the bruise on his cheek. A beep followed by a flash blinds you for a heartbeat.

Everyone sets their gifts on the dining room table for safety, but you, Spark, and Sandy bag yours with care to take home at the end of the night. Sandy is told to park herself and Jasper heads into the kitchen to prepare another round of drinks while you pitch in with the boys to tidy up. Rebellious, Sandy skirts you and sets her holocaster on the mantle, projecting the holo-feed of her husband fourteen hours ahead of you and a great many kilometers away.

Ray has that well-manicured perma-stubble look a lot of the freelance and startup guys you flirted with in university liked to wear, and light-brown hair neatly cropped and curling in little cowlicks. His green eyes look heavy and there’s a bruised weight under them that makes you suspect he hasn’t slept much since having to turn back mid-way through his voyage with Sandy. The family take turns chatting and well-wishing their missing kinsman. Spark seems to stand a little taller when he introduces you, titles unneeded for the way his arm is resting on your shoulder, hand in your hair pressing your head against his chest. You hug Spark and wave, congratulating Ray on his impending child. Your heart feels like it couldn’t get any fuller or happier. Your head feels very cheerfully fuzzed with Jasper’s sloshed coffee.

As someone’s holocaster chimes an alarm for midnight, everyone tosses back a commemorative shot of apple cider and Jasper drunkenly declares the depth of winter behind you:

“Fuck the snow, bring on spring!”

You all agree with a cheer and raised glasses.

The sweets on the coffee table are picked at with renewed vigor and Shadow joins you, Spark, and Sandy around the table to chat. You spy Micah sneaking up on Jasper halfway to the kitchen and smile at their hushed, giggly conversation. As the midnight hour nears a close, you nudge Spark and remind him of the contents of his room. He takes a few of the sturdier surviving gift bags upstairs and Sandy heads into the kitchen on a mission for tea. Abruptly, she yips and giggles, followed by Micah’s and Jasper’s own cackling. Shadow snorts and covers his smirk behind his hand. You smile and give him a playful nudge.

“What’s so funny?”

The boy glances at you and starts turning pink.

“Mum ‘n dad. Prolly sucking face in the kitchen.”  
“Nothin’ wrong with that. Everyone does it.”  
“Ugh, but it’s my _parents_ y’know? As if you wanna walk in on your mom wrapped up all over your dad?”  
“Hmm… Don’t think I ever saw that.”  
“Lucky.”

Shadow glances at you, meets your gaze, and you both share a giggle.

Spark returns and Shadow stands and declares he’s heading off to bed. You get a hug and wish him a pleasant rest. Spark envelopes his little brother in both arms and kisses his head, murmuring something affectionate before letting him go and giving him a little shove towards the stairs. Shadow pauses halfway up to yell goodnight to the other adults in the kitchen and they chorus back.

Sandy is the next to call it a night, once her tea is finished and her ride on order.

“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night,” she proposes as she gets her boots on.  
“Sure, we’d love to,” you reply. “We’ll take care of the reservations.”  
“Here, text me so I’ll have your number.”

You read back her number as she dictates it and then send her a brief message with your own name and number, just in case. Sandy grins when her holocaster dings and she messages you back a photo of Shiro licking Spark’s unmade face.

“Keep warm, honey,” Jasper interjects. “Will you be ok getting down the drive? Want Blue to walk with you?”  
“I’ll be fine, mum.”  
“Love you, Sands.”  
“Love you, Sparkles. And happy cooking, you two! Next visit, I expect a home cooked meal!”  
“Bring my nephew or niece and you can count on it.”  
“Ha~ You better practice, you’ve only got five months.”

Sandy pinches Spark’s cheek and kisses his opposing, bruised one. From out front there comes a trio of honks that says her ride has arrived.

“Better get going!”  
“Message me when you’re at the hotel, darling.”  
“Yes, dad. Love you! Bye!”

You collectively hold your breath as she minces her way down the driveway and lets herself into the car; you sigh almost in unison as she shuts the door and then the car pulls away from the curb.

“I had no idea I would be this nervous,” Spark breathes.  
“First grandchild, can you imagine?” Jasper’s excitement sounds a little too much like a trainer about to embark on a new adventure: scared, anticipant, confident.  
“It’s like becoming a dad all over again,” Micah utters.  
“You’ll be fine,” Spark reassures his parents. “You’ve had practice.”

You stand, boots on and smile at that. Jasper’s smile looks a little wobbly. She catches your eye and covers her mouth, looking away, looking too happy for words.

“Yeah, I suppose we did -Oh, hell, I’m drunk and I’m gonna cry.”  
“Oh, before you leave-”

Micah pulls away and retreats to the kitchen while you and Spark don your coats and he calls for Boomer and Dash to recall. He hugs his mother and chuckles as she mumbles something into his shoulder. When Micah returns, he’s got a plastic-wrapped paper plate heaped with samples from the sweet table. Your eyes light up and you’re all too happy to receive it.

Kisses and well-wishes see you out the door as your own ride slows to a halt at the end of the drive. Spark puts the bags in the trunk and joins you in the back seat, the platter resting on your lap. A flicker of movement turns your gaze and, curled atop a snow drift, you spot Blue watching you leave. You and Spark wave through the window; he stands and his fins unfurl, ears tilting forward. Your gaze turns upward as the car drives on, and you realize it’s beginning to snow.

“So, despite your best intentions, everything came out and we still survived.”

You turn to Spark, watching him buckle up.

“Yeah… I have no idea how that happened. And you left me just hanging there!”  
“No, I didn’t! I was looking at you for direction. I didn’t know what you wanted me to say. And then you blurted it out anyway. Never saw _that_ coming.”  
“Fine, I’ll give you that one for emotional compromise.”  
“Meaning?”  
“It’s not every day you learn you’re going to become an uncle.” You favor him with a smile. “I’ll forgive you for being speechless.”  
“You’re too kind.”

You turn away to gaze out the window, watching the fat, white flakes drift past. Spark snorts and you glance back, finding him hiding his grin and giggling.

“What?”  
“Hee, I’m gonna be an uncle.”  
“You’re so fucking cute right now.”

His glee is contagious and you can’t help chuckling. You lean across the seat and peck his cheek.

“You’re going to be the best uncle. Ray might even have competition for being best man in his or her life.”  
“That’s a fight everyone will win at.”  
“I didn’t know you loved kids so much.”  
“Kind of hard to be a gym leader if you don’t like ‘em.”  
“True… Guess it goes without saying you’ll want some of your own?”  
“Yeah, it would be nice. Getting to watch them learn stuff, and run back to tell you. Cuddling them. I remember cuddling with my parents. It was really nice.”  
“You do love to cuddle.”  
“Don’t you?”  
“Yeah, I guess? Wasn’t really big on it before.”  
“But you are now?”  
“Hey, I can change my mind.”  
“Sorry for changing your mind.”

You smirk and whap the back of your hand against his jacket. He chuckles.

“Ok, so I’m kind of dying to know how you finagled these classes!”  
“I told you already.”  
“Yeah, yeah, you told your family the sanitized report. Gimme the dirty details.”  
“Like what?”  
“Like, who did you call? What did you say? How’d you even make them skip the waitlist?”  
“Pft, I’m not telling you that!”  
“Noble indeed. Throwing your title around and pulling favors. You better not let that corrupt you.”  
“Hey, can’t I get my girl a nice gift without an interrogation?”  
“Gift _s_. Don’t pretend those gloves were cheap.”  
“Oh, my god, will you listen to yourself? Why are you turning on me? I didn’t do anything illegal or immoral, and yeah; maybe I do use my connections, but who doesn’t?”

His words are a pin to the balloon of your excitement. You can hear your mother’s voice echoing in your ears, telling you to shut up and not look a gift horse in the mouth. Your gaze falls on your knees and you feel suitably chastened.

You just had to, didn’t you? Couldn’t stand that he’s this good of a person, that his family are so lovely and loving. You had to find something to knock him down. Congratulations.  
It’s just not fair -he comes from a totally different world. Even though they were so kind… I’m not artistic like Jazz, or a chef like Micah. I’m not accomplished like Sandy, or ambitious like Shadow. I’m not grounded like Spark, with my whole life figured out.  
Don’t know why Spark puts up with your shit. You are one stupid bitch sometimes.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you apologize. “It’s not my business to question.”  
“Is it because you’re worried about money?”  
“No. I’m not sure that’s any of my business, either. You’ve never given me reason to doubt you there. It’s just, nobody’s ever done anything like this. Nobody’s ever been this kind or generous. I don’t understand it. I could never hope to reciprocate something like this.”  
“Did you think I had some ulterior motive? Come on. I just wanted to make you happy, you don’t have to hand it back, pound for pound. Shit.”  
“Look, by no means am I calling you or your family anything bad when I say this, but I didn’t… have a family like yours.”  
“I know.”  
“No, you don’t know.”  
“Then why don’t you tell me? Because clearly something’s eating you.”

You look away, reluctant and feeling put on the spot. You hate going head-to-head with him; you never win. The snow outside is falling thicker, whipping past the window into the night beyond. You don’t see many cars out. Your searching gaze shifts, focuses on the dim reflection of Spark in the glass. He’s still facing you, expectant. He’d figure it out soon enough if you were making plans to bring him home. What was better? A surprise after waiting so long, or the truth now -the chance for him to recoil, for you to swallow your disappointment before things got too complicated.

You turn away from the window but don’t face him completely. You take a breath.

“My mom worked two jobs just to keep up the rent and get me into decent schools, and I’m thankful for that, but she wasn’t much of a mom. I came home from school to find money under the boot mat to go out and buy my dinner. I don’t remember seeing her eat around me, and I wonder if she sacrificed even that, and… I feel like an asshole for being upset with her for not being around. I talked to her more on the phone than in person. I couldn’t fail at anything in school because they’d call home and raise a fuss, and she couldn’t get time off. She did real well at costuming me up so nobody would know. If I was lucky, I saw my dad in person once, maybe twice a year. He wasn’t even in one place long enough to send him divorce papers.”

You look at him, and your eyes are wide and everything is swimming around the edges just a little.

“It was hard, ok? I’m not saying this to make you pity me. I worked my ass off to get here _by myself_. Nobody helped me. Nobody _could_ help me. And you just indulge me on a whim like this, and it’s… it’s amazing, and weird, and I just… How the hell are you _real_? Why would you even go for someone like me?”

Spark is quiet, studying your face and looking quite sober. You feel so ashamed of yourself for questioning his integrity and honor, for questioning his gift. _Don’t cry, don’t you fucking cry. Sniffle those tears back, girl. You lose if you cry. Don’t make it a matter of pity, for the love of Mew, reign it in._

“Why shouldn’t I?” Spark finally asks. “You’re brave, you’re smart and clever. You keep trying to better yourself and learn more. You’re beautiful, but you’re not afraid to be a slob. You’re kind. You make me laugh. I look forward to seeing you when I come home, and so do the boys.”

You sniffle and swallow your tears, and for all you’re worth, you force yourself to keep looking at him, to not curl up and hide your face and admit you played yourself. You’re afraid to let on how anxious you are that he’ll judge you and find you lacking, broken, flawed beyond tolerance. You’re afraid this is what will finally make him throw his hands up and declare things done, that you’re too much of a mess to handle.

“You’re sexy,” Spark declares. “You’re fun in bed. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone who is not just compatible, but trustworthy and loyal? Adventurous?”

That gets a sheepish, watery giggle out of you.

“I’m not with you for all the stuff you were, or because I pity you, or need to feel bigger than someone. I’m with you because I like you. Because you demanded that we talk shit out, because you want to know what’s in me, and I want to tell you everything. And I want to know what’s in you. I like you, and I trust you.”

He reaches into your lap and takes your hand. You squeeze back.

“And because I like you, I get you gifts. That’s just who I am. It’s a big turn-on for me to see you happy. And when you cry, I feel like I could move mountains to make it stop.”  
“I hate that you’re so agreeable.”  
“I prefer to call it seeing the other side. You’re one tough little shit to get through that, to make it to where you are. That can’t have been easy. I respect that, I really do.”

You sniffle and roll your gaze away, blinking quickly.

“I’m sorry I made you see this side of me. I don’t know why…”  
“Because you wanted to trust me. It’s a two-way street.”  
“Is it?”  
“It’s hard to trust someone when you know they don’t trust you.”  
“That’s kind of true…”  
“Thank you for trusting me. And I’m sorry you felt stressed out.”  
“Wha- No, I wasn’t.”  
“The holidays magnify everything you don’t have. Don’t think I missed you in the living room.”

You swallow your tears, humbled by his observation.

Really not dick for brains, is he?  
I’m such a piece of shit for doing this here and now.  
You’re lucky he doesn’t think you’re the manipulative type, or this would be far less lowkey.  
Please don’t make me feel worse.  
Just saying.  
He’s better than that… and all I keep doing is doubting him and waiting for some horrible other shoe to drop.  
You need therapy.  
…  
Did you hear me?  
…That might be the single best thing I’ve ever said to myself.

It’s pathetically true and it makes you laugh sadly. Spark makes a questioning sound.

“You’re saying thank you when I acted like a total shit about your gift and dragged my family into this?”  
“It wasn’t long ago you were crying, saying you couldn’t trust yourself to trust me.”

The words feel like a hot arrow through your gut, through your heart.

“Are you, I dunno, upset or hurt or something? Because I said that?”  
“I was angry with myself until you said it was something you needed to work out on your own. So, challenge accepted.”  
“Challenge?”  
“To help you win your own trust, and trust me. You should be comfortable with your own heart, don’t you think?”

Spark squeezes your hand and rocks it back and forth playfully on the expanse of seat between you.

“Besides, we’re both going to those classes.”  
“Mn… When you put it that way…”  
“You’ll wear your apron, right?”

You look up at him and his expression ransoms a smile from you.

“Of course. How else will you know to kiss the cook?”  
“Exactly. Maybe I should get one of my own.”  
“But then we’ll just be making out the whole time.”  
“You say that like it’s bad,” he snickers, and you join in.  
“I have considered sex in the kitchen on a few counts…” you admit.  
“You do realize this means pizza just became a low-tier option.”  
“Still an option,” you promise.

You’re both quiet for a long moment. In the shifting light, you study the way your fingers interlock. His hand is bigger than yours, rougher and lightly mottled in scars from years of training, but somehow you both still fit so comfortably. You squeeze his hand and meet his gaze.

“‘m sorry for being a dumbass.”  
“You’re _my_ dumbass.”  
“And don’t you forget it, uncle Sparkles.”

He groans and lets his head fall back against the seat.

“Dammit, not you, too.”

 

The roads were becoming hazardous as the snow piled up, accumulating into awkward trails through guesstimated lanes. Staggering out of the car and into the apartment building felt like a grand achievement. You stand on the main floor sniffling and catching your breath for a moment, mustering the will to start climbing stairs. The weight of booze and too much food were a siren song you were losing to.

“Alright, here’s the plan. Put everything on the kitchen counter and go to bed. Deal with it in the morning.”  
“Good plan. Also, good thing we did groceries. We might be snowed in tomorrow.”  
“Ugh, I hate winter…”

You begin climbing, Spark behind you holding the bags and you holding the keys and plateful of treats.

“What season’s your favorite, if not winter?” Spark enquires.  
“Summer.”  
“You didn’t even hesitate. Impressive.”  
“You?”  
“If I had to rank the seasons, winter would be at the bottom. It’s so messy and inconvenient.”  
“Don’t you have a favorite?”  
“I always did like apple-picking.”  
“Yeah, that’s fun. But you can’t wear shorts and crop-tops by then.”  
“You make a compelling case for summer.”  
“I’ll make a convert of you yet!”

On the second-floor landing, you frown and sigh; the railing appeared to have been ripped off the wall and was severely dented outward into the spiraling stairwell. Any intelligent person would stay well away from it, as it was certainly a deathtrap, if not a lawsuit waiting to happen.

“Looks like someone’s had a wild party. Careful you don’t lean on that railing.”  
“Wild indeed. Glad we were out,” Spark gently ushers you forward, your balance off-kilter thanks to Jasper.  
“What about spring? I like when the flowers start budding. They look so cute.”  
“Aw, yeah. The air smells so clean in the spring. Right after a thunderstorm, you know?”  
“And there’s a rainbow and the birds are splashing in the puddles.”  
“The spring festivals are fun. Lots of good food and dancing.”  
“Ever met your ribbon-mate at the May-pole?”  
“No? What’s that?”

You smile over your shoulder and begin to explain:

“Maybe you don’t do it here? Back home, every May-pole had two of every color ribbon, and while you were bobbing and weaving, you would try to find the person with your matching color.”  
“That’s a fun tradition. I don’t think I’ve seen that.”  
“You will if you come with me.”  
“What happens if you find your match?”  
“You get a kiss -oh, _shit_. Um. Does that look like blood to you?”

Spark joins you on the landing as you regard the smears of red on the wall, the railing, dripping down the baseboard.

“Looks like it’s fading out around here. Did it start further up?”  
“Dunno. Look, give me the keys and take the bags. I’ll go ahead.”  
“Wait. Maybe we better call the cops?”  
“We will. Obviously no one else has; I don’t think they’re home.”  
“Ok, be careful.”  
“Stay behind me.”

As you climb to the third floor landing, there’s even more blood. As Spark’s following the trail, hoping to find whatever poor soul got injured, you spy your door. It’s ajar a few inches, the door frame splintered from someone’s brute force entry. No elegant lock picking or pokemon attacks, just a very desperate, human evil. Cold clenches your insides.

“Spark. Th-the door’s open. Someone broke in.”

He holds you back from the door and for a tense, too-long moment, you both hold your breath, listening hard for movement. All is silent.

“I’m going inside.”  
“No, don’t! What if they’re still in there?”  
“Bojangles was home, I’ll go get him and then we’ll get the cops, ok?”  
“Oh, god, oh, shit, Bo…”  
“Just stay here, I’ll come right out.”  
“O-ok.”

You try counting your breaths in an effort to slow the heaving of your chest, the bags rustling in your hands. You’re too worried to feel tired. Your ears are straining for sound, trying to pinpoint an attacker you can’t conceive of, imagining they’re right behind you. Your gaze falls on the blood on the floor. Why was there blood? Could Bojangles be hurt? And then you spy a paw print. And another.

“Spark! Spark, he’s not in the apartment!!”

Spark appears in the doorway, looking half-spooked himself, ready to fight something.

“He’s not here. I can see his paw prints in the blood. None of them are leading back into the apartment. He’s gone!”  
“He can’t be gone-”  
“He’s _gone_! We need to find him, he doesn’t know the neighborhood, he doesn’t go out.”

You can feel your panic inciting a shriek, your fingernails digging into your palms.

“He could get hit by a car, or crushed by a plow, or attacked by some bigger animal! He doesn’t know how to battle, Spark, we gotta _find him now_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	12. Wanted dead or alive in seven regions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bojangles is missing. There's a showdown at a police station. Everyone walks away in varying degrees of injury. Spark is an evil mastermind/chaotic good. 
> 
> Different injuries heal at different paces, for different people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Long hiatus over! My personal life is still a bit insane for the next 2 more weeks, but then I'm hoping it all simmers down. So.... there's one more chapter to go. I've got a stack of continuation ideas, some of which are already in progress. I really enjoy writing these characters! I don't like having long gaps between updates, and I know you faithful readers don't like having to wait forever, so I may or may not take some time off after completing Roommates just to focus on those stories... it really has to do with how Real Life plays out.
> 
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**

“Give me the stuff,” Spark demands, reaching for the items your hands. “Call him, I’ll get the treats. We’ll find him.”

He takes the bags and food from you, and ducks back into your shared apartment. You sniffle and call your pet’s name, helplessly looking up and down the hallway, hoping he’ll creep out from around a corner. Another call, louder and shameless. You pace towards the stairs, clucking your tongue and making kissing noises —sounds he responded positively to. But there is no response, no tawny ball of fur mewling back as it toddles to you, no bark, no thump-skritch of paws running. You feel tears sting your eyes and your voice breaks as you call again and again.

Your gaze falls to the blood on the wall, the bloody paw prints on the floor. There’s a dent in the drywall you hadn’t noticed coming up, and a smeared, bloody handprint. You hold your left hand up to match the positioning; the hand is larger than yours, a male’s hand. As you adjust your body to accommodate the mark, you look up at the dent and wonder if it wasn’t a shoulder colliding with the wall. Why would someone be bleeding in your stairwell, smashing into things? Why would Bojangles be walking through the blood?

What if it was his?

“I don’t see anything damaged or missing besides the door.”

Spark’s voice makes you jump. He tugs the door shut with the slack of the treat bag between his hand and the pull to try and preserve whatever prints are there.

“H-he’s not answering. I don’t think he’s in the building.” Your voice quivers with worry. “Do you think someone stole him?”  
“I don’t know, but I was thinking —what if someone tried to get in and he attacked? Foxes can be vicious if you invade their space.”  
“You think that’s why there’s so much blood?”  
“Might be? Eevee have a sharp bite. Maybe Bo chased them out?”

It’s small, but it gives you a grain of hope.

“Y-yeah, maybe… But he didn’t come back. Couldn’t he smell his way home? What if he’s hurt and can’t move? Some of that blood might be his!”

As you’re speaking, your words appear to trigger a thought, and Spark’s eyes light up. He grabs a pokeball out of his coat pocket.

“Dash, we need your help!”

Once released, the jolteon shakes himself, and his ears flatten. You watch him sniff, his lips curling in a faint snarl. Spark hands you the bag of treats and you clutch it in both hands like a lifeline. Spark raps a knuckle on the door frame, and Dash approaches. When Spark speaks, his long ears swivel forward, and his whole body seems primed to absorb whatever direction Spark issues.

“Find Bojangles. Sniff him out.”

Dash rears up on his hind legs to sniff the door where Spark had knocked. After cataloguing the smells there, he drops to all fours and paces along the floor, detailing a circle around the hallway in front of the door and making his way towards the stairs. Along the way, his nose leaves the ground, and he continues sniffing in mid-air.

“What’s he doing sniffing air?” you ask.  
“Smelling for Bo. He’s following the trail.”  
“But eevee don’t fly or float-” Your breath catches. “Whoever broke in had to have grabbed him off the ground.”

Dash hustles past you and you can hear him _whuff-whuffing_ as he follows the trail down the first few steps. Abruptly, he barks —it’s a deep, resonating sound you’d never heard him make- and takes off down the stairs. Spark gives chase, and you follow, glancing down the stairwell at the golden blur hot on your missing pet’s trail.

_Please, Mew, I don’t ask for much. Keep my Bojangles alive and safe! Please help us find him!_

When you catch up to Dash, he’s standing against the door leading out, claws scratching and squeaking as he paws at the glass. He whines urgently. Spark wastes no time throwing the door open to let him out, and the chase resumes.

The air is knives shredding your lungs. The snow is coming down hard –no longer fluffy, gentle flakes, but sharp flecks of ice that sting your face. The motion of your running shakes the treats in their closed bag, and you call Bojangles’ name as loud as you can, irreverent of the few lunatics out smoking that give you and Spark odd looks as you pass. Several paces ahead of you, Spark is also shouting for your pet and commanding Dash to bark. The noise clears the way of what few people are walking home or milling about doorways.

The sidewalk is so loaded down, it feels like running through sand, and every few footsteps feels more draining than the last. Your stride hits something solid, and for the second time that night, you’re sliding on ice. You flail and stumble, grab onto a nearby signpost and slam against it with a winded wheeze. It’s hard to breathe in the cold, hard to catch your breath when your heart is jackhammering against your chest, and your lungs are burning. The back of your throat feels dry and cold, and your sinuses are flooding fast, blocking your nose. Your head is spinning from the remaining effects of booze and your current worry and fatigue. You feel nauseous.

Bojangles is somewhere in the storm, scared and lost, possibly hurt, possibly –no. NO! You wince and feel tears chill at the corners of your eyes. You hope he had the sense to hide under something safe and sturdy, like a balcony, or someone’s patio furniture, not a car, or garbage bins. The thought of him getting caught by a snow plow makes your throat clench, and a sob leaves you, your mind betraying you with horrifying visions. _I brought him home, I promised I’d take care of him… I’m all he has. He was all_ I _had…_

Arms encircle you and pull you to your feet, haul you forward with determination.

“You can make it,” Spark yells over the wind. “Dash is waiting, let’s go.”  
“Please don’t let him be dead!”  
“Don’t say that! C’mon, one more block.”  
“I can’t, I can’t breathe. It hurts!”  
“Just walk. I’ve got you. You’re tougher than this!”

Your ribs are screaming agony and you know you’d be on your knees, gasping for air if not for Spark. His own breaths are quick, like clouds whisked away by the storm. Gradually, the snow on the ground clears somewhat, and you’re able to move quicker. And then you’re inside and blinded by the light. Your ears begin to burn as you flood your aching lungs with warmth, reach up to wipe your face, and squint your bleary eyes open.

You’re inside a police station. Before you is an L-shaped counter, behind you are the sliding glass doors you’d just come through. To your right are a few plastic chairs, a pair of open cubicles, and a few closed wickets shielded by thick plastic. You sniffle ineffectively and let go of Spark to brush the snow off your coat. Dash is reared back, forepaws on the counter’s shorter branch, and whining urgently.

“Restrain your pokemon, please. Only aides are allowed free.”

You follow the voice to find a woman behind the counter, suited up in a navy uniform and chewing gum. There’s a badge on her left breast, but you can’t make out the text from this far away. Her hair is tight against her scalp in several rows of braids, combining into a pair down either side of her neck. She has an unimpressed look on her face, just like most of the cops you’ve seen on tv. Behind her, another officer is using a photocopier and holding a mug. He glances over at you, looks you and Spark up and down. He sips his drink, nonplussed. Further back, there are a couple of desks with computers, though only one is occupied by what you figure might be a plain-clothes detective. He’s quietly, urgently talking on the phone and turns away from your scene as your discussion up front escalates.

“We’re looking for someone,” Spark explains. “He tracked them in here.”  
“A missing person?”  
“An eevee.”

The guy at the photocopier snorts and mutters something. The woman who had addressed you frowns and manages to look even more unimpressed without expressly being angry.

“We’re a police station, not animal rescue. I won’t ask again: restrain your pokemon.”  
“Have you tried the pound?” suggests the other cop as he collects his photocopies and retreats with a sneer.  
“Dash, come to me.”

Spark steps forward and Dash falls in beside him; he looks up at his trainer and gives a plaintive bark-whine. Spark slaps his open wallet on the countertop, displaying his civilian and League IDs. When he speaks again, his tone matches the cop’s —no-nonsense, unimpressed, commanding.

“I’m a gym leader and I’m tracking a missing pokemon. The sooner you help me locate it, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.”

The woman glances at the two cards, looks at Spark, glances past him at you. Her gaze makes you feel singled out and scrutinized. She looks at Spark again. She looks like she’d love to spit her gum in his face.

“Instinct, huh? My little sis wants to be like you. At least the taxes pay for _me_ to do a real job.”  
“Did you find an eevee or not?”

You’re proud of Spark for ignoring her comment. You’d love to tell her where to shove her tax-subsidized salary, and it wasn’t anywhere polite.

“Go around that way. Hey, Rivers! Let them through.”

Spark holds her glare a moment longer before stepping back and following her direction. Another cop emerges from a back room and goes to open the swinging door that closed off the long end of the counter from the rest of the room. Dash leads the way, nosing impatiently between you and Spark, and gives Rivers a warning growl when he attempts to grab him. Curiously, Spark and Rivers nod at each other. Spark makes a little sound like an aborted whistle and Dash promptly falls in beside him again, coat spiked with excitement.

“We had an eevee come in about two hours ago. Attached to some drunken fool.”  
“Show me,” Spark says.  
“You want the guy, too? Thought you were after the eevee?”

You hustle forward to interrupt.

“Our apartment got broken into! For all we know, that guy stole my eevee!”  
“Woah, one thing at a time. Sit down, there’s paperwork you’re going to have to complete.”

He points you to a pair of chairs at the second empty desk, and goes around to take his own seat. Irate, you stand your ground.

“What for?”  
“Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but we need to collect the facts.”

With a snarl, you plunk down in one of the chairs and set your purse in your lap to rummage your wallet and ID out. You were willing to bet that resting-bitch-face out front had nothing on the level of _unimpressed_ you were currently at.

“How’re the hands?” Rivers asks as he takes up the mouse and wakes the computer.  
“Fine, thanks,” Spark replies. “You let those jackasses go yet?”  
“Ah-ah, your involvement with that’s done. Thank you for your services to the community.”

Rivers briskly types something and begins clicking through some program. You can make out just enough of the screen to know it’s all data-entry stuff. Fun.

“Spare me the hypocrisy. Your captain looks like she’d love to lock me up next.”  
“Between you and me? She’s like that with everyone. Though, I can’t deny some of us were miffed that some vigilante gym leader knocked down those guys.”  
“Self defense,” Spark intones, deadpan.  
“You bet!” Rivers winks at you. “Your lady friend is grateful, I’m sure. Do you have somewhere to spend the night until we’re done with evidence and the lock’s repaired?”  
“We’ll manage. Where’s the thief?”  
“Where’s my eevee? Is he ok? There was blood everywhere!”  
“The eevee is in a pokeball, still alive. You’ll get him back once you sign the release form.”  
“So, hurry up and give me the form!”

The next twenty minutes are spent on agonizing bureaucracy and cross-referencing details you knew about the break-in. Rivers asks if you can name any suspects that might try a break in, citing idolatry for Spark as a gym leader, or any exes, or a hunt for pokemon kept at home. The longer the grilling goes on, the tighter the knot in your stomach grows.

When Rivers stands and turns away to collect the printouts, Spark whispers a command to Dash, and the jolteon takes off across the office and down a hallway. Louder, and presumably for show, he exclaims:

“Shit, not again!”

He gives you a sly look as he grabs you out of your chair to follow Dash. There comes a bark and a howl, and a male voice shouting in fear. The sound sends a chill colder than the storm down your spine. Ahead of you, Spark praises Dash; crouches to stroke his head and ears in both hands, and kisses his snout. Dash whines and licks his chin, stub tail wagging. Spark stands, recalling his jolteon as you catch up, your gait having slowed with dread.

The left side of the hall has an open room, divided from the common way by a vertical fence of bars. Within the cell, in bloodied dress-shirt and slacks, is Fen. His hands are bandaged in so much gauze, it looks like he’s wearing white mittens. Various butterfly bandages are holding together deep scratches on his face and down his arms. The left one is supported by a sling. His movement is uncoordinated and off-kilter. He reeks of booze. It takes him a long moment to focus on you and grin.

“Hey, gorgeous. What you in for?”  
“It was you, wasn’t it? You broke into my apartment.”  
“Nah, I knocked.”  
“You smashed the door open, Fen! The fuck is wrong with you?!”  
“Ay, shit, no yelling. Fuck. I hate when you bitches get all shrieky.”

Beside you, Spark seems to stand taller.

“Fen? _He’s_ that creep that was harassing you?”  
“Where’s the rest of your boy band? She your beard or something?”  
“Don’t talk to him,” you give Spark’s sleeve a cautionary tug.  
“I don’t talk to trilobites.”

Rivers catches up to you, grumbling about Dash until Spark informs him he’s been recalled. You glance down at your left hand, and at Fen’s arm in the sling, recalling the dent in the hallway at home.

“He’s the one who broke in. I just know it. There was a hand print and a dent in the wall at the top of the stairs on our floor, matches perfectly with his busted shoulder. I bet his hand’s all cut up and bleeding, too.”  
“Ah, yeah, he’s one of the suspects you named.” Rivers frowns, ignoring the rest of your implications. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”  
“He smashed my fucking door!”  
“Heh, yeah, I did. Way before he ever got a taste.”  
“Wow, pathetic,” Spark mutters. “Too bad your winning personality wasn’t enough.”

The innuendo makes your blood boil all the same. Only the interruption of another startled cop skidding to a halt on the edge of your gathering keeps your temper from boiling over; in her hand is a pokeball sealed with an evidence sticker. Rivers meets her confused, alarmed gaze and ushers her forward to hand it over. You grab the pokeball in your trembling hands and tear the sticker off. You hit the button and release your pet.

Bojangles lands on the tile floor, almost unrecognizable for how wet and filthy he is. There’s blood smeared all over his tangled coat. Before you can smile with relief and coo at your pet, he growls and darts between the bars, aiming right for Fen. The man lashes out with a foot, unsteadily trying to kick the little fox away.

“Get away! I’ll kick your ass!”  
“Bojangles, no! Come here!”  
“Open the door, break it up.”  
“Fuck off, you little –get off! GET IT OFF!!”

Bojangles had jumped and grabbed the hem of Fen’s shirt in his teeth, was scrabbling his legs for purchase as the drunk man staggered around in a panic. Fen grabs a hold of his tail, but the upward motion only gets Bojangles closer to Fen’s face, where he lunges with a ferocious little cry and snapping jaws. Fen wrestles to get the pokemon away, and before anyone can react –the cops are fumbling to unlock the door- you shove both arms through the bars. One grabs hold of the man, the other claims your eevee by the scruff.

“Ma’am, step away or we’re going to restrain you.”  
“Spark!”  
“Got him!”

Spark receives the snarling, kicking bundle and begins swaddling him in his scarf when suddenly Bojangles lets out a bloodcurdling howl. The sound stops everyone (except Fen who is spitting at the floor and wiping his mittened hands over his face). You turn to your pet with fearful surprise. Bojangles’ eyes are showing their whites, and he’s panting, saliva forming a silvery foam at the edges of his mouth. Spark unwraps him, glancing quickly at you with a look of concern. The cop that had handed you Bojangles’ pokeball is clutching a taser and darting her gaze between all of you, mainly looking at your eevee.

“Looks like his leg is broken,” Spark announces. He squints and examines Bojangles with more care. “Something’s off. His right side is hot.”  
“Is he ok?”

You pet cries again when Spark gingerly prods him and settles his touch against his heaving, damp side. The distress is so uncommon and undeserved; every sound squeezes your heart. Another agonized howl and Bojangles desperately tries to bite Spark in an effort to get free. Spark’s face looks grim.

“Broken rib, I think. He needs a hospital, there might be worse damage inside.”  
“Here, ball him. It’ll keep him safe, right?”  
“For a time, yeah.”

You hand the pokeball to Spark and watch him recall your pet. You’re still holding on to Fen with your other hand.

“Any injuries he sustained as of being let out are on you,” stammers the woman holding the taser. Spark gives her a withering look.  
“I’m a member of the League, not some Team Rocket thug. _We_ didn’t hurt him.”

“Put it down, y’hear me?” Fen slurs. “Fuckin’ li’l mongrel.”

You can feel your rage under your skin like a living thing, howling to be let loose. You grit your teeth and yank your fist still holding Fen, slamming him into the bars.

“You hurt my eevee!”  
“That little shit stain attacked me first! Look at my face!”  
“He was defending his home!”  
“Ma’am, let go of the suspect immediately!”

Fen grabs the collar of your coat through the bars and yanks you in. You yelp in surprise. His breath makes you gag.

“If I get rabies, I’ll sue you, bitch!”  
“Let go of her right now!”  
“Fuck you, get off-” You can’t shove him away or pull yourself free.  
“I’ma sue you for ever’thing else! Be scarred for life from yer ugly fuckin’ rat!”

Your fists tighten, and your pulse is a war drum in your ears.

“Yeah? Well, sue this!”

You rear your other arm back and throw your fist between the bars right into his face with a crack. The force throws him backwards out of your grip, his own fist losing its hold on you; the alcohol does the rest of the work to throw him down on his ass.

You fall away from the bars, the pain immediate and radiating up your arm. You stagger and collide against the opposing wall, your vision flickering as your temple collides with the brick. Someone grabs you before you collapse, and you know when you try very hard to move your hand that something isn’t right, and some of your hand isn’t moving. You aren’t quite sure what you’re hearing, as it sounds like everyone is talking all at once, and muddling together into an indistinct glob of noise.

A touch to either side of your face.

The scent of Spark’s cologne.

Your jaw doesn’t quite know what it’s supposed to do when you try to speak.

“Th-that h-hurt.”  
“You knocked him right out.”

Spark sounds like he’s laughing?

“Serves h-him right… Need… to s-sit dow…”

 

You remember opening your eyes to the feeling of something cold on your face. As if sensing you’re awake, the pain comes knocking again, pounding and kicking. Cold hits your face and bare neck, and you vomit. And then all is black again.

 

You’re awake, but you know you’re not very lucid as a lady in pastel scrubs shines a light into your eyes, opens your mouth, and presses on your tongue. There’s a sharp, hot sting, and then diminishing, throbbing heat.

A heavy cloak is settled on you, and your arm is set on a table. There are a few clicks, and you try to smile for the camera, but your head hurts, and smiling hurts.

You’re glad to see Spark when they let you out of the dark room. You feel cold and very tired. He lets you lie across his lap on the uncomfortable seats, surrounded by other people in varying states of injury and illness. Your stomach is sore. Thinking is hard, so you stare at the cover of the magazine the pregnant lady across from you is reading. The letters look familiar, but you can’t recall what they are. Spark talks quietly to you, asking you questions. Some of them sound repetitive, but you don’t know why or when he last asked. You want to sleep.

Spark joins you in another room and squeezes your good hand as needles are jabbed into your injured one. The medical people seem irritated every time you ask what’s wrong with your hand. You wonder if you’ve asked before, but it’s hard to remember. And then Spark is turning your face against his shoulder, and stroking your good hand. Your injured arm erupts in fresh agony. You scream and strain to get free but Spark’s too strong. He keeps telling you you’ll be ok. Another jab of pain in your hand is quickly followed by another. The pain is exhausting. You’re aware that you’re shaking and crying. You don’t understand why Spark is letting them hurt you.

And then there’s simple pressure, the pain a dull throb. Your body feels like tv static. Spark praises you and tells you it’s over. You ask what happened to your hand. He doesn’t answer. He kisses your forehead.

 

You wake up to dim lighting on a small bed. You feel hungry and nauseous. Your arm is throbbing. You can’t move your fingers. There’s a scratching below you, and then Boomer appears in your field of vision, his paws leaning on your chest. He leans close to sniff you, and laps at your cheek. It makes you smile.

“Booma, guh boy.”  
“Kachuu pi pikacha.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“Pi.”

Boomer leaves. You turn your head, wincing as pain argues back, radiating down your right shoulder and upper back, up to your skull. You hear Boomer chattering. You hear Spark’s voice. You reach your good hand up, feel it hit something soft and will your fingers to close around it, pull it. Warmth recedes down your chest. You feel for the surface under you and give it a push, easing yourself upright.

“Woah, easy. Where are you going?”

Spark’s beside you, holding you steady. You look down and find a few quilts piled in your lap. You look at yourself. When did you put on a hoodie this big?

“I gave you my hoodie,” Spark explains. “Are you gonna puke again?”

You squint at him for that question. Then you look past him and find you don’t recognize the walls or light source.

“This’n’t home?”  
“We’re at the gym. Fen broke our door, remember?”  
“Oh.”

You reach for him and touch his shirt, watch your left fingers awkwardly close around a pinch of fabric.

“‘m hung’y.”  
“What do you feel like eating?”  
“‘m I talkin’ funny?”  
“Yeah, you have a bit of a concussion. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Spark holds one hand up, index, middle, and ring fingers raised.

“Th’ee.”  
“Good.”  
“Why a concuss’n?”  
“After you punched Fen, you hit your head and blacked out. The nurse said you bit your tongue. That’s why you’re talking funny.”  
“Time?”  
“It’s a little after ten AM.”

It takes you a while to process that fact, but then alarm jolts through your veins. You tug urgently at Spark.

“Wh-? Bo! Where Bo?!”  
“Shh, it’s ok. He’s at the animal hospital. They have to keep him for observation for twenty-four hours before we can see him.”  
“He ok? M-my Bo…”  
“He’s much better. Don’t cry, I promise he’s going to be ok.”

Too late, your eyes are flooding their banks. You sob and will your bad arm upward so you can look at it. There’s a thick plastic brace around it and your two middle fingers are taped to a splint. You cry harder, dropping your arm into your lap, and let Spark hold you close.

“‘m sowwy!”  
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  
“Sowwy ‘nyway. Foh Bo, an’ Fen, an’ a’guing wif you. ‘m sowwy ‘bou’ las’ nigh’.”

You cry until your head feels ready to explode, and your stomach feels much emptier. You can’t find the words for what you’re crying for, and you’re sure your mouth couldn’t handle saying them, either. You feel like you’ve just gone through the drain cycle of your washer; dizzy and wrung mostly dry. Spark picks up a corner of sheet and wipes your face dry.

“Feel better?”

You nod your head. It’s hard to breathe. You’re sniffling hard.

“What do you want to eat? Does your tongue hurt yet?”  
“No. Maybe soup?”  
“You need the bathroom?”  
“Mm.”  
“Alright, let’s get you up. Easy, now. Tell me if you get dizzy.”

Your arms and legs feel uncoordinated, like you’ve been contorted in an uncomfortable position for too long. Walking isn’t easy. Spark guides you to the bathroom and stands outside until you’re done. You don’t waste any time on mirrors, don’t care what you look like. He guides you to the gym kitchen and sits you at a prep table. Boomer joins you and curls up in your lap. You concentrate on touching his fur while Spark prepares food.

A plate with half a grilled cheese sandwich is set before you.

“Try and eat something solid, ok? The doctor said you need to take your meds with food.”

It smells greasy and delicious. Eating is as difficult as talking, and you have to concentrate very hard on chewing and where your tongue is moving to avoid biting it.

“Dey f’eeze my mouf?”  
“They shot your tongue with some numbing stuff. It’s to keep it from swelling anymore and choking you.”  
“‘s har’ to eat.”  
“I know, just take it slow, babe. You’re gonna wish you had more of that shot when it wears off.”  
“Wha’ meds?”  
“Anti-inflammatories and some high-dose painkillers. But you’re going to be really sick if your stomach’s empty.”  
“‘s guh.”  
“It’s good?”

You nod your head once.

“Thanks. No more talking for now. Just eat.”

Spark sets a bowl of soup next to your plate, followed by some pills and a glass of water. Your stomach feels much happier being full. It takes you far longer than Spark to consume your meal, and by the end of it, you’re beginning to feel groggy. Spark helps you back to bed and tucks you in.

 

That night, you’re able to return to your apartment. The door and frame have been replaced, and a shining new handle and lock have been installed, backed with metal plating. The new wood is unpainted and still smells fresh-cut. You look around your home, relieved to find nothing material has gone missing or been harmed, save for one member of your household. Micah’s plate of treats is sitting on the counter, the gift bags on the floor in front of the cupboard door. It feels like weeks since you’d been home. You tour the apartment, looking at everything, touching things, pulling open cupboards, and doors to re-familiarize yourself with the motions. Walking is a little easier now that you’ve done it a few times, but your fingers are having trouble.

Spark joins you in the shower to help you wash your hair. You wonder when you’ll ever have your hands again. As you’re sitting on the counter, holding the blow-drier up to your hair, you feel your tongue beginning to throb. When you’re about as ready for bed as you can get, you head into your room and find your holocaster on your nightstand. You lie down, wincing as the movement sends a burst of hurt into your mouth.

Sandy messaged you to follow up on dinner, and then again to wish you well. You figure Spark told her the news.

Rose had left you a message from last night wishing you a happy solstice and asking if you were attending her new year’s party.

Spark had forwarded you a video clip from the animal hospital. Bo was awake and bandaged after surgery, his right forepaw in a cast. He was scarfing down a plate of moist kibble like it was apt to run away on him. The attendant filming caresses his head and offers encouraging words. You smile and replay the video a few times, relieved that your pet is safe and recovering.

Your mother sent an email wishing you well. Attached were photos of the family cat wearing a gaudy sweater and sitting inside a gift bag, as well as a shot of your family from their own get-together. Your eldest cousin has a new piercing.

Aurora has written to say that she’d read your message but still needs time to process everything. She’d like to talk in a few days if you’re free.

“Hey, it’s that time again.”

Spark’s taking a seat on the edge of your bed, your meds and a glass of milk in hand. You whimper, unable to formulate words with your now aching tongue.

“I know. But you’re going to feel way worse if you don’t take them.”

You heave a sigh. You push against the bed and Spark reaches around you to help you sit upright.

“I’ll whip up some of your favorite pancakes in the morning.”

Reluctantly you smile and shake your head. You hold out a hand for the pills.

“Atta girl. All the milk, too, since you can’t eat.”

You swallow the pills with a wince and then nod. When the glass is empty, you hand it back.

“Want something cold? It’ll help the swelling.”

You nod. Spark leaves and returns a moment later with a freezie. You raise an eyebrow and give him a questioning look.

“I snuck them in when we were shopping. They’ve been on the balcony since the freezer’s full.”

You squeeze the tube and lay the ice against your tongue, and then give a deep, grateful sigh. You give Spark a thumbs-up. Clever boy.

 

Breakfast, as promised, is on Spark, and though your tongue is still sore, it’s far less swollen. You’re still mindful of it and speak slowly, but your gurgling stomach has far less patience and you just know you’re going to wolf your food down as soon as it’s in front of you. The news boasts about the blizzard having dumped a record-breaking amount on your part of the region. Irritated pedestrians are being interviewed, bitching about the too-slow removal efforts, and clips of gleeful children playing make the top stories of the morning. You think about Blue and smile.

You return to the kitchen to set the table and pour the coffee you had set to brew. Boomer’s perched on the window sill, standing up against the glass to see over the accumulation. You stroke his striped back with your bandaged fingers as you go for the cupboard with the mugs.

“Hungry?”

Spark looks over his shoulder from his station at the stove. You nod.

“Starving. Also nauseous.”  
“How’s your mouth?”  
“A lot better. Can’t wait to eat, it feels like forever. Can I just say you’ve been beyond amazing for taking care of me? I seriously appreciate it.”  
“Of course. What are boyfriends for?”

He steps away from the stove; you reach up to cup his face and lean against him to kiss him chastely. The bruise around his eye is far less purple, though not entirely gone. You brush your thumb over it and grin.

“We’re such a mess. I’m surprised neither of us has an arrest record by now.”  
“Wanted dead or alive in seven regions.”  
“Hope the posters got your nose right.”

You kiss him again and back off to get that blessed caffeine.

“Can you fill me in on what happened after I punched Fen? My memory feels really choppy.”  
“Looked like you were in shock or pain, and then you passed out. I managed to catch you before you hit the floor, but you had already bumped your head on the wall. At the hospital they said the impact also made you bite your tongue.”  
“Yeah, I remember you saying that part. How did we get there?”  
“Squad car. Oh, and you puked out the window.”  
“…Why do I have to remember that?” you mutter.

He grins and shrugs.

“They did the usual triage and checkup, set your hand, drugged you up.”  
“I remember being, like… mad at you? I don’t know why.”

Spark sighs and his smile fades.

“Sorry, I had to hold you down so they could set your arm. You weren’t really retaining anything anyone was telling you.”  
“I seem to remember asking about my hand a lot…”  
“Yeah. I’m sorry, I know you were scared and in pain-”  
“Is that why I was mad at you?”  
“Probably, yeah.”  
“Don’t worry about it. I sure as hell don’t remember. It had to get done.”  
“Do you remember arriving at the gym?”  
“I remember waking up in the gym.”  
“I think you were seriously out of it. You were lecturing me about butter. What I could understand, anyway.”  
“Butter??”  
“Drugs are a hell of a drug.” Spark cracks a grin and you rub your hands over your face.  
“Yeesh.”  
“I had no idea you knew so much about butter, to be honest,” Spark snickers.

The conversation pauses as he scoops out the finished pancakes into a covered dish, and pours more batter.

“How long did that all take?”  
“Few hours. It was after six by the time we crashed, and then you woke up around ten, slept until five.”  
“Yeah, I remember coming home, at least. Repairs sure happened fast.”  
“You still have two more doses of the anti-inflammatory. Doc said you need to take all of them on schedule, no excuses.”  
“That stuff knocks me out,” you pout, setting the filled mugs on the table and turning to the fridge.  
“It’s supposed to help the swelling. You dislocated your two middle fingers, nearly snapped your wrist in half. That’s gonna hurt you a while.”  
“I broke my wrist?”  
“Yeah. Your fingers should be ok in a couple weeks, but the wrist is going to take six weeks, maybe longer.”  
“Damn. I really let him have it, huh? You’re so good for getting all that. There’s no way I could remember anything.”

You pause as Spark heads to the table with the dish of pancakes. You have the carton of coffee cream held against your chest by your cast, and the milk in your good hand. It’s a little change, but it makes you realize you’re going to have to learn a new way of doing things for a while until you heal. As Spark fills your plates and takes a seat, you approach the table again.

“I think there’s something you’re glossing over.”  
“What’s that?”  
“I punched Fen in front of the cops.”

Spark continues buttering his pancakes and reaches for the syrup. He says nothing.

“Why am I not in a cell right now? Or being served a lawsuit?”  
“Oh, that asshole wanted to lock you up and throw away the key. He wanted Bojangles put down. He wanted a lot of hysterical shit.”  
“But?”  
“But you were out cold. He was raving drunk, and had a broken nose. The cops were freaked out by Bojangles.”  
“Freaked out by my little Bo? Wait. I broke his nose?”

A grin cuts across your face. You can’t help feeling delighted at the news. It’s petty, and doesn’t make your own injuries feel any better. But in your mind, he deserved it.

“As your roommate, it’s my right to press charges for destruction of property, and breaking and entering. They sent a team to get prints while I got you to the hospital, and they confirmed he’d done it. The fact that Bo attacked is irrelevant. Guard dogs do the same. It’s not illegal, and Fen didn’t have life-threatening injuries.”  
“So, he threatened to sue, and you threatened to counter-sue?”  
“Ehhh, in a nutshell?”  
“Spark, you’re really bad at lying, even by omission.”

You quirk a brow and squint one eye at him skeptically. By the time you’re adding pursed lips to the expression, he’s cracking. Spark sighs and sets his cutlery down.

“Ok, um… I’m going to say something you might not like, and I promise it was never meant to be an invasion of privacy. I just wanted to protect you.”  
“What did you do?”  
“I unlocked your phone and showed them your call history, all the messages he’d spammed you with. He admitted to having dated you, and I said I had been a witness to his actions. He was so stupid-drunk, he didn’t try to deny it.”

You’re both quiet at that. Spark looks away first. A hand reaches up to rub over his neck.

“I’m sorry. It was the only way I could give them any proof against him. I was really counting on you not having deleted anything.”  
“I kept everything for that exact reason. I was thinking of going to the cops with it, but he never reached out again, so I figured it was over.”

There’s another uncomfortable silence, and then Spark reaches for his coffee. You study your pancakes for a moment, struggling to make your brain function as normal. After a time, something finally clicks.

“How’d you unlock my phone? It only opens with my fingerprint.”  
“Your fingerprint was out cold on the floor.”

Spark looks so contrite and embarrassed now, you can’t help laughing. He glances over his mug at you and you mumble the words and burst into a fresh round of giggles. He snickers and lowers his drink before he chokes on it.

“Yeah, that sounded better in my head.”  
“No, no, that’s one for the books.”  
“I didn’t go poking around more than I needed to, I swear.”  
“It’s fine. I mean, I’d prefer if you didn’t do it casually, but I don’t have anything to hide. You were trying to help. I get it. So, you gave the cops this info and what happened next?”  
“They explained that if you did decide to press charges for stalking, harassment, and the rest, he was absolutely going to jail. He decided very quickly to drop it all as long as you don’t go after him.”  
“But he still broke in.”  
“Well, the cops can’t ignore that. The evidence is against him.”  
“I really should press everything I can. That sonofabitch hurt me, tried to kill my pet, and now he knows where I live and work. What good is his word that he’ll leave me alone?”

Spark smiles. You narrow your gaze and tilt your head.

“What?”  
“I may have put the fear of all the gods in him. But you won’t like it.”  
“Every time you say I won’t like it, you have a good reason that I do like. Spill.”

Spark shifts in his seat and you can’t help thinking he looks like a gossip-hound about to drop a juicy secret.

“Well, I told him that, because he’s trying to start shit with a member of the government, he’s going to find himself in a world of red tape. Watched very closely. His next flight might deny him boarding if he doesn’t shape up, and forget international travel. His boss might receive a call regarding his extracurricular activities. That got an interesting reaction.”

You blink and feel yourself pale a little.

“You fucking didn’t.”  
“I asked if he was up to date with his taxes. And if he knew what happened to guys like him in jail. He turned a very ugly color.”  
“How would you –you sneaky shit! You set him up!”  
“Hey, I don’t start fights outside the gym, but I will finish them. Psychological warfare is just as fair as a punch.”  
“You’re scary, babe,” you snicker, very unafraid of him. More like, glad he’s on your side. “But there’s no way he can’t check up on everything you bullshitted him with.”  
“There’s no way he can, either. He’s not part of the in-crowd, so how would he prove if a secret government agency had him under scrutiny?”

You chuckle and take up your fork and knife.

“Holy birds, you’re devious. Did the cops catch any of that?”  
“If they didn’t, their cameras did. If they feel like investigating further, it’s up to them. Feel better?”

You stuff a wad of pancakes in your mouth and nod your head emphatically. Doubt and fear had made you question if you’d ever known anything at all about Fen, but suddenly it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he knew where you lived or worked, or who you were living with. None of it mattered, because according to Fen, Big Brother was watching him, now, and Big Brother did not like his attitude.

Even if it was a crock of shit.

“Eat up, there’s more if you want. There’s a fruit salad in the fridge if you get snacky later.”

Spark grins at your enthusiasm and turns back to his own plate. A moment later, he starts laughing. You look up, mouth too full to speak, and make a questioning sound.

“You know, I just remembered: I promised I’d put his ass in the hospital if he ever came near you again. But here you are with a busted arm because you did it yourself.”

“Sorry,” you swallow. “For stealing your thunder, heh.”  
“Nah, I’m proud of you. When did you get to be so tough?”  
“My boyfriend’s a badass gym leader, duh. I learn from the best.”  
“And my girlfriend will fuck you up if you touch her eevee.”  
“Bet your gym I will.”

 

The next morning, you head out to the animal hospital to pick up Bojangles and bring him home. Despite his injuries and having one leg temporarily out of commission, he’s full of energy and antsy. You can’t help crying as he’s placed in your arms and aggressively licks at your face, then at Spark’s hand when he reaches over to stroke him. He’s got his own bottle of meds to take twice a day, and you’re given a salve and new bandages, along with instructions on how and when to change them. His fur’s been cleaned and shaved away around his injured side, and he looks so thin without it. You’re told he’s a bit pudgy and could benefit from more exercise once he’s healed.

Once home, he toddles about on three legs, his plastered forepaw wagging and thumping on the floor as he inspects seemingly every inch of the apartment before joining you in the kitchen for a meal of moistened kibble. You have to conceal his pills in a wad of cheese and he shakes his head indignantly when you shove it towards the back of his throat to swallow. Spark laughs and remarks that he doesn’t seem to know or care that he’s injured, he’s just too determined to get on with life. Dash and Boomer greet him and inspect his bandages. Dash brings over his favorite chewy toy, but it’s too big for your little eevee to romp with, so he lays on it and gnaws it instead, hind feet kicking happily.

Aurora messages you to ask if you’re free for a coffee that evening. You promptly agree on a time and place. You reply to Rose’s message from days ago to fill her in on everything and tell her you and Spark will be at her party, come hell or high water. She responds with a series of stressed, surprised, crying, and relieved reaction gifs, and then writes:

_YOU’RE GIVING ME GREY UNDER ALL THIS PINK. STOP._

As you leave the apartment, you take note that the blood in the hall has been cleaned away, and the railing has been replaced. There are faint seams in the walls where new drywall had been placed and painted over. It almost looks new. The stairwell smells faintly of fresh paint until you step out into the dusky late-afternoon, the sky clear and the air blisteringly cold. You pull your scarf up over your nose and head to the bus stop.

 

“So… that’s a lot of cake.”

Aurora looks up from feasting on her green tea cheesecake as you slide into the booth across from her. She’s alone, but there are two other plates in addition to her cheesecake —one riddled with spare crumbs and transparent, sticky smears, the other still loaded with a huge slice of black forest. A bowl-cup full of steaming latte sits by her napkin. Only the ends of her black-dyed hair are peeking out from under her pom-pom topped toque. She looks tired.

“Hey. Help yourself, there’s more where that came from.”

Getting your coat off takes a bit of struggle, and there’s a loud thunk as your cast hits the edge of the table. Aurora raises an eyebrow and leans forward with curiosity.

“Uh, did your arm just become very solid and possibly hollow, or am I tripping on more than sugar?”  
“Heh, no. I have a cast.”

You free your arm and show her the evidence. Her jaw drops. She sets down her fork and her gaze flicks between your face and your arm.

“What in the fuck? I just saw you like five days ago.”  
“My ex broke in solstice night, got attacked by Bo.”  
“Your ex did that to you?!”  
“No, I did it to myself when I broke his nose.”

Aurora looks like she can’t decide what emotion to apply to that.

“You owe me this story.”

A server arrives to offer you the menu; you order a latte like Aurora’s, and a slice of Tiramisu mousse. The one empty plate is taken away. You set your coat and purse aside, and take a breath, trying to sort the story out in your head. You begin from the top, starting with an explanation of who Fen is, working your way through his harassment, his implied threats, all the way to the bloody hallway, and the police station. As you’re relaying what you knew about Bojangles’ condition from the animal hospital, your cake and coffee arrive and Aurora’s got a hand over her mouth, riveted with shock and disgust.

“What do you mean broken ribs?! The fuck did he do to Bo?”  
“Judging by Fen’s busted shoulder, we can only guess he tried to smash Bo into the wall to shake him off. Broke his little leg, too.”  
“Fuck… You should sue his ass! That’s animal abuse!”

You’re quiet, stirring your coffee. It was one thing to threaten and insult you; but to actually inflict harm, and on your pet at that? You were fresh out of mercy. If it was entirely up to you, you’d have Fen dragged out into the Midnight Forest and left to the beasts that lived there. Or swing a bat at him until you got tired, then let Spark and his team have at him until the screams stopped. You conclude that either way, all that would remain of Fen would be a smear of blood on the ground.

“We reached a stalemate, so we both backed down,” you finally reply.  
“What? No!”  
“I’m filing a restraining order tomorrow, just to have it on record and cover my ass that he came after me first.”  
“Why aren’t you cleaning him out? He hurt you and Bo!”  
“Technically I hurt myself. And as much as I want to, I can’t afford the legal help to sue, anyway. He backed down when he realized just how much was against him. So, it works out, I guess.

Aurora stews over this over the span of a few bites of cake. You try yours and promptly go back for another bite, humming appreciatively.

“How’s Bo-bo? Is he ok?”  
“Honestly, I’m not sure he knows he’s hurt,” you chuckle. “The bandages and cast are just a weird inconvenience to him. He’s running and playing all over, and eating well.”  
“Heh, what a little tough guy. He’d make a good flareon with that attitude.”  
“I’m so proud of him. I was really surprised one little eevee could do so much damage.”  
“People under fire can do amazing things. Pokemon, too. As satisfying as it had to have been…” She pauses and quirks her lips. “You know, you could have gotten really fucked for punching him in front of the cops.”

You sigh.

“Heat of the moment, y’know? We’re going with self-defence since he grabbed me. I had only grabbed him to get Bojangles off.”  
“Makes sense. What does Spark think of all this?”  
“Pretty sure he would have liked to drag Fen out of that cell and around back, off the books. He’s too good at being cool under fire.”

Aurora snickers.

“Bet your murderous rage gave him the weirdest boner.”

Your mouth opens to retort, but you realize she’s probably right. Knowing what Spark was like in bed, you wouldn’t be surprised if it did. You sip your coffee and use it as a shield to hide your blush until your face cools.

“What about you?” You eventually enquire. “How you doing?”  
“I’m doing.”  
“I mean since Candy- Candela. Have you spoken?”  
“We’re playing phone tag. I don’t care to pick up and face her.”  
“Why? I thought you wanted to keep things going?”

Aurora scrapes the last remains of her cheesecake off the plate and sets the dish aside, reaching next for the chocolate cake. She’s several bites into it when she pauses and sighs.

“Is it wrong of me to want her to chase me?”  
“Is that what you really want?”  
“I want some indication she gives a shit. Yeah.”  
“Don’t you think stringing her along or guilt-tripping her isn’t fair on your part?”  
“I’m not. And I’m over being mad. I’m over you guys being a thing for however long it was. I don’t care.”  
“But you won’t talk to her directly?”  
“I’m afraid if I do, I’ll be back where we started. You probably know better than I do what I mean by that.”

She looks at you and you turn your gaze to the table. Yeah, you sure knew what she meant.

“You made such a fuss about it. Do you know what you want from her? Because I did.”  
“You didn’t get it, did you?”

You shake your head.

“I realized she wasn’t good for me. Not for the person I was at that point, not for where I was in my life. I mean, you were there. You remember how I was.”  
“Yeah. The word _free-falling_ comes to mind.”  
“Do you know what you want from her? Because I can give you all the support or advice in the world, and it won’t really matter.”

Aurora sets her fork down and takes a sip of her coffee. She’s pensive and looks a little sad as she seems to be thinking it over.

“It’s stupid. I feel so childish for thinking it.”  
“I’m sure it’s not.”  
“I want what you have with Spark. I want that friendship, that easiness. I want affection. I want someone I can talk to in the morning.”

Her lip trembles a little and she sniffles and turns her head away, feigning like she’s studying the mosaic on the wall backing the booth.

“I want her to care about me.”  
“Those are beautiful things to want, Ro. You deserve them.”  
“I’m not sure she’s capable of loving anyone.”  
“That’s a lie, and you know it. She loved me. It took time and a lot of stupid shit on both our parts. I had to break up with her, but she finally realized that she did, which means that she can. And she can love again, and she can love you. I know she can.”

Aurora sniffles again and reaches up to toy with the zip of her oversized hoodie. It was some oddball design, a brand she seemed to have picked up from Rose’s fashion exploits. You’d seen her in a few, lately; this one was mostly orange, seemed to resemble a magikarp.

“Are you upset because of me?”  
“I’m upset because of who you are to her. But I can’t help that.”  
“I think you need to face her, tell her what you told me. She’s not good with subtleties.”  
“What if she’s not down for that? Like she said, it’s been, what? A week? Who am I to make demands of her? Like I said, it’s childish.”  
“Knowing what you want and expect isn’t childish, Aurora. I mean, it would be unrealistic to expect her to give that overnight, but I don’t think you do, do you?”  
“I’d settle for a try.”  
“At the rate you’re going, you’re settling for nothing, babe. You need to tell her. Use your grown-up words. Really stick it to her.”  
“Easier said than done.”  
“If she does turn the idea down, what of it? If she can’t give you what you want, then why feel bad?”  
“Because I like her.”  
“And you deserve someone who will like you back.”

Your conversation has reached a stalemate. You both go quiet and focus on your respective desserts. You check your holocaster for the time and find an alert from Spark.

_Sandy’s flying back Tuesday morning, so I was thinking of having dinner. 7-ish?_

You frown as you reply. It takes you longer than usual because you can only brace the phone against your hand on the table, rather than hold it.

it’s already 4, I’ll never be ready in time! I’m at half-speed, remember?  
_we’re not going anywhere fancy_  
_you’re pretty enough_  
I was going to glam up my cast, but if you say so…  
_lol can you make it home by 6?_  
sure. are your parents  & Shadow coming?  
_No, just us 3_  
see you when I get back

“Everything ok?”

Aurora’s cleaned off her plate and is rolling around the maraschino cherry that had topped her slice of cake.

“Yeah, dinner plans. Spark’s sister is flying back to Johto day after tomorrow.”  
“Good thing it’s the holidays. Who cares if you have your dessert before the meal.”  
“You’re going to Rose’s party, right?”  
“Dunno.”  
“Aw, c’mon!”  
“I invited Candela.”  
“I don’t think she’d show up as nobody’s plus-one.”

Aurora shrugs and stabs the cherry, eats it.

“I’m thinking about taking a trip in the new year.”  
“Yeah? Where?”  
“Temple crawl. I realized I’ve been feeling… I dunno, imbalanced. Maybe faith is what I need to sort myself out.”  
“Well, you’ve already eaten a ton of cake,” you remark and she reluctantly begins to grin. “Prayer can’t hurt. But you know how the rest of the phrase goes.”  
“Love’s the hard one.”  
“It doesn’t have to be.”

She gives you a skeptical expression.

“Well, look at you.”

You have the grace to blush and smile and cover your face. She snorts and gives a little smile.

“I knew he was a good egg. Rose was right.”  
“Yeah, well… Still a work in progress. I haven’t told anyone, not even Spark, but I’m looking into therapy after the holidays.”  
“That’s not a bad idea. What prompted that?”  
“Just kinda hit me like a bolt of lightning.”

Aurora’s smile becomes a little softer, a little more satisfied.

“About time you found some balance.”  
“You’re going to find yours, Ro. I’m behind you one hundred percent. Where you gonna go first?”  
“I was thinking up north.”  
“Emotional detox, huh?”  
“Yeah, I think I need it.”  
“I think that’s a great idea. Here’s to a healthy new year for all of us.”  
“Fucking amen to that, girl.”

You lightly tap the sides of your coffees together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta and I are working on getting the backlog of my work proofed, so I'll be announcing that when it's all posted. Stay tuned!
> 
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed this story, please kudo, comment, and share with your friends! You can also follow[my writing blog](http://jali-writes.tumblr.com/) for behind-the-scenes, world-building notes, brainstorming, and other news.**


	13. And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You can hear it in the silence_   
>  _You can feel it on the way home_   
>  _You can see it with the lights out_

The remaining weeks of the year are slow-paced and peaceful. You re-arrange the living-room a few times until it feels right, and rifle through your belongings for things to purge, inspiring Spark to do the same. He integrates what he’d brought over from his parents’ house. You insist on putting his League photos in the living room as a point of pride.

The two of you pack up your discarded items and take a leisurely stroll across the neighborhood to drop off the bags at a second-hand shop. You visit the gym with Bojangles and watch him play with Spark’s team while Spark tends to his pokemon’s upkeep. Each day on the calendar is crossed off as you anticipate having your arm back to normal.

 

Your first attempt at sex since breaking your arm and coming off the knock-out drugs is awkward and embarrassing. It’s been weeks since your last romp. Hot in the moment, you throw your hands between your legs to grab Spark’s hair and clobber him with your cast instead. You both pause in surprise more than anything, and laugh it off. The mood takes a dip, but Spark’s affectionate nature helps keep the petting and kissing going until you’re back on the same page. Meaning, until your mortification at whacking him in the head with your very un-sexy cast is forgotten. Mainly by you. The way he’s grinding against you says he, at least, has long forgotten about the mishap.

Somewhere between him kissing down your back, and his fingers meeting yours between your thighs, you hear the tear of a wrapper, and feel his erection nudge against you, into you. You’d never fucked spooning before, so it was new and interesting, but the novelty wore off quickly. You didn’t want sweet, coddled love-making.

“Stop, just… stop.”  
“What’s wrong?”

Spark does stop, and kisses the crook of your neck, his hand still caressing your body. You wince and struggle to find your words, rolling your eyes heavenward in a silent plea for help.

“I mean, this is… nice. But, um…”  
“Am I hurting you?”  
“No! No, I, um…”

You take a breath, hope for the best, and rip the proverbial bandaid.

“It’s just my _arm_ that’s broken, ok, not _all_ of me, and I’ve never done this position before anyway, and it’s just, like, _nice_ and all, but I’m not made of glass, ok?!”

Spark laughs against your shoulder.

“If you want it harder, just say so.” The punctuation of his teeth nipping your ear gives you a taste of what you really want, and you feel a shiver race along your skin. _Yesss…_  
“Sorry. I just don’t want to be coddled like some invalid who needs special treatment.”  
“You got me. I figured you might be sore or still kinda dopey.”

Spark pulls out and you roll onto your back as he moves away. When your eyes meet, you offer a sheepish grin.

“I don’t mind trying it again some other time.”

Spark cocks a brow and looks like he’s trying hard not to look amused.

“Oh, there _will_ be a next time. Now, get up.”

You feel even more sheepish at that, and yet, the commanding tone gives you anticipation and shivers like he’d bitten you again. _Yes,_ your body is telling you, _This! I want this!_

The pillows are flung aside and Spark hoists you up against his headboard, fingers digging into your ass. He licks your mouth and meets your eyes as your limbs find hasty purchase. You can feel a giddy little smile tugging your lips; the change in his attitude is abrupt, but the look in his eyes tells you he wants it this way as much as you do.

“You’re happy I stopped you.”

He snickers at that.

“Sue me, I didn’t want to hurt you. You alright like this?”  
“Hurt me. Just try.”

The pattern of his headboard is lightly bruised into your back, and come morning, there’s a note taped to your door asking you to keep it down. No sooner do you shut the door and turn around do you bump into Spark wearing nothing but last night’s sweat. His shirt draped over your frame lands somewhere in the hallway, and you finally get to live your dream of fucking on the kitchen counter.

 

Rose’s new-year’s eve party was being held at a club downtown. According to the invitation you’d received a few weeks ago, the agency that represented Rose and two-dozen more of the region’s top bloggers and creatives was footing the affair as a VIP thank you to their diligent employees. Everything was on the house, and there was a lot of everything.

There was an exhibition performed by gymnasts suspended high in the air, supported only by thin curtains of cloth. There was a fashion show. There was a gallery of photography and art down the entire back wall. Party favors like glow-sticks, glitter bands, all manner of lit-up, blinking props and accessories littered the tables between the food and other decorations with coy signs like “play with me” and “break me.” There were hors d’oeuvres and cocktails circulating nonstop; a desert bar; a cupcake station loaded with every kind of candy and frosting you could imagine; and a scavenger hunt to track down every creative at the party. Completed lists were entered into a grand-prize draw. With Spark on your arm, it seemed like the attention came to you, and it wasn’t long before you’d made your rounds and accumulated your list of signatures –and a longer list of people eager to chat with you and your boyfriend.

You spot Aurora sipping a cocktail in the gallery. She’s in a low-cut, backless romper and thigh-high boots, with her hair extended, floofed, and braided into a crest. Like Spark, she worked with pokemon and rarely dressed up, but when she put in the effort… _Yowza!_

You grin as she notices your approach and waves. She really does look like a pidgeot -sleek and elegant. Her makeup is all dark, edgy drama. You wonder how long she was at the salon to doll up this much.

“Girl, you look fierce! I love the hairdo!”  
“Thanks. I’m loving me this dress, give us a twirl.”

You oblige and she whistles.

“Party up front, and after party all the way down the back. Fuckin’ love it. Can I borrow when you’re done?”  
“We’ll see. You with anyone, pidge?”  
“Heh. Flying solo. But hey, the point is to mingle, right?”  
“Wanna mingle with me a bit?” You sling your cast around her free arm. “The adoring fans stole my date.”  
“I would love to.” She pats the little bit of your hand still exposed.  
“So… what are we looking at here?”  
“This one’s an art installation. The mirror shards are like those optical illusion pictures your grandma probably had. Supposedly, if you stare at it the right way long enough, you’ll see a picture.”

You both sip your drinks and gaze at it for a while, trying to figure out the trick. It’s even harder when the club’s lights keep reflecting back at you, and everything keeps moving. You wonder if the art piece is titled _“Futility.”_ Aurora enquires as to when you arrived, if you’ve sampled the food, if you’ve gotten any time with Rose. As you’re chatting, a shimmer of red reflecting off the mirrors catches your eye. It appears again in another shard, and another, and as you follow it, you spy cinnamon skin and honey eyes.

You glance at Aurora; she’s downing the remains of her glass. A step closer bumps your shoulders; you gesture at the mirror and lean closer to her ear.

“Incoming Valor leader. Want me to cover for you?”

Aurora presses her lipsticked lips together and hazards a glance behind you, then at you.

“I’m already booked to leave tomorrow night. Whatever happens won’t change that.”

Her grey eyes are vibrant surrounded by the black of her makeup, but they’re wide and uncertain. You offer a supportive smile. She smiles back, but it’s strained.

“You don’t ask none, you won’t get none,” you tell her.  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
“I’m gonna go find Spark. Join us if you want.”  
“O-ok. Later.”  
“Later.”

Candela meets your gaze as you depart from Aurora’s side. You nod pleasantly, turning your shoulder away to hide your cast, dodging into the crowd to avoid her following. The last thing you need is to get between her and Aurora, or Candela causing a scene over you. Again. You wonder if her own arm’s doing better.

You find a few familiar faces on the dance floor and linger there for a handful of songs. Rose appears out of the throng and swings you around, laughing, and very drunk. You fall into step with her, dancing a shamelessly goofy performance hand in hand, steadying her when her twirling catches up with her and her stilettoes. Over Rose’s shoulder, you catch sight of Blizzard and wave him over to collect his girlfriend before she collapses -or worse- all over the floor.

“Need any help,” you ask as he gets an arm around her and hoists her against him.  
“I think I got this.” Blizzard grunts as Rose flops against him.  
“Woohoo! My subs are thirty-two percent higher, ahahahaha!!”

You’d heard the official stats announcement, and Rose periodically passing you, screaming drunker and drunker each time. She was completely beside herself. You were getting tired of the repeated announcement, but witnessing your friend’s gleeful success made you laugh. You didn’t quite understand what the increase entailed, but if she was happy, you were, too.

“I know, you told me lots of times.” Blizzard rolls his eyes. “Let’s go get you some water, ok?”  
“Nah, it’s a party! Everyone, drink, dance! Woohoo!!”

Rose’s fist and cheer got several enthusiastic replies from around you.

“But this is limited edition party water. You’ll like it.”

You had to admire Blizz’s dedication.

“Yeah?”  
“Yeah, it’s really good.”  
“Well awrright, let’s get some parrywater!”  
“Woohoo, party water~!”

You snicker as Blizzard leads Rose off the dance floor and towards the bar. You decide to mince your way off, too. Maybe find the bathroom. A hand tugs your shoulder; you reach up to grasp it, anticipating it to be Spark. Your smile freezes with uncertainty when you realize it’s not.

Candela’s a vision in glittering red, her dress seemingly held together with but a few golden chains. Your gaze flicks to her hand in your grasp and you affirm that she’s still bruised. Try as you might, it’s too late to hide your cast, and she reaches for your healing arm. The fury in her face tells you she’s dodged and jumped past every bit of plausibility and logic, and is only opening her mouth to ask which motherfucker hurt you.

“I fell,” you blurt out, before she can form a sound. “It was icy.”

Her eyes narrow and her gaze flicks over you, thoroughly taking in every visible detail.

“You fell.” It’s not a question. She looks like she’d love for you to break down and confess what she wants to hear.  
“Yeah, serves me right for trying to run on unsalted walkways.”  
“Shame about that. How’d you do your fingers?”  
“I fell-”

She yanks you in closer and growls.

“I know what the fuck a dislocation looks like, don’t lie to me!”

You know she suspects Spark, and not just because of a personal bias. From one heartbeat to the next, you realize just how possessive she is, and decide you’re not into that. Flattering though it is to know what kind of one-woman army she’d be in your defense.

“I’m not. Chill, ok? I slipped and tried to grab something, hit my hand weird, fell, and landed on my arm. Just a really bad fall, nothing else.”

She looks like she’s thinking about that, and lets you take your arm back.

“Be more careful when you’re out. This winter’s a shit one.”  
“I will, thanks.”

Her gaze gradually softens and then she leans in.

“I want to apologize. I never meant to hurt you. It wasn’t a matter of revenge.”  
“I never took it that way. But you hurt my friend and boyfriend, and that hurts _me,_ whether you know it or not.”  
“I know it.”

Close enough to feel her body against you, you study her face. Shimmering gold makeup highlights her cheekbones, eyes, lips. It makes her look ethereal, feminine, and soft -far from the brutish, bullish gym leader she was. Her expression is all furrowed brows, worried lips, heaving chest, and trembling hands. Right now, all she is, is a woman seeking your forgiveness. You feel like you could spend the rest of the night just staring at her. You want to reach up and free her lip from the torture of her teeth.

“Please forgive me? I have no right to even ask at this point, but I wish you would.”  
“I can forgive what happened between us. I’m over it. But I can’t forget it. I think you need help, Candela. I know you can be better than this.”  
“I know, just…”

She sighs, and it seems like a burden has unloaded itself from her shoulders. She stands a little taller in her stilettoes.

“I know. And I will get better.”

You wonder if she really will, or if her words are just an empty promise to win your favor. You hope what Spark’s told you about the League is enough to get her head screwed on right.

“Um, I have something… if you don’t mind giving it on my behalf?”

You take half a step back.

“Oh, no. I am not getting involved with you and Aurora again.”  
“It’s not for her.”

She lets go of you and reaches into her dress, under one of the straps doing a mediocre job of covering her breasts. You glance around, hoping nobody is paying either of you any attention. You’re not sure if you’re more embarrassed for her or yourself.

“What are you doing?!” you hiss.  
“Almost got it –here!”

She holds out her hand and you gaze at it like she might slap you with it. _Is she giving me one of her_ barbells _as a keepsake?_ Hesitantly you hold out your hand. Something metallic, and far larger and heavier than body jewelry lands in your palm.

“It’s for Spark. Call it a thank you. He’ll know what it means.”

You dare to peek at the object in your hand and breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not her jewelry.

“Isn’t this a gym badge?” You cock an eyebrow at her. “Where exactly where you keeping this?”  
“Same place I’m keeping my credit card and not much else.” She grins and finally resembles the Candela you know. “Will you give it to him?”  
“Uh… I guess? Why can’t you give it yourself?”  
“Running late for another party. It’s weird being here as nobody’s plus-one, y’know?”

Candela steps back with an air of finality, like she’s taken care of the last thing she came here to do, and suddenly, you’re afraid of her leaving.

“Wait!”

She does.

“Can we still be friends? Am I out of line for asking?”

Candela smiles at you, but it’s soft and strangely affectionate.

“I gotta work on me and my shit, sugar. Don’t go making promises I can’t keep.”  
“I’m not asking for a promise. Just a try. A maybe?”  
“I would love to, if it comes down to it.”

You want so badly for her to say yes, to say everything was just mistakes and stupidity and in the past. You want to know everything will be ok. The realization that it’s utterly out of your control ties a knot in your belly. _She’s not what Spark means to me, but she means something important all the same. Please say we’ll still be friends, Candy?_

“I… um, I really hope you do sort your shit out.”  
“Same, honey. I gotta go, now.”  
“Have a better new year, Candy.”

And like that, she turns and disappears into the crowd, flickering out of your life again like the fire tattooed on her back. Your gaze falls to your upturned palm. The badge is a stylized firebird, a moltres crafted of enamel and colored stainless steel. To you, it meant nothing; thousands of trainers had bled, sweat, and cried for the very thing you’d been given freely. But that made it worth _something_. You wonder what Spark will make of it.

You find your taller half perched at one of the bar-height tables, chatting with some of the other media creators, the tabletop littered with empty shot glasses. As you draw close, you hear a cheer and they unanimously throw back their drinks. You approach behind him, slip your arms around Spark’s waist, and lean against his back to smooch his cheek.

“Wanna come dance?”  
“Hey! Sure, what time is it?”  
“Close to midnight.”  
“Then, definitely.”

To his inebriated audience, you grin.

“‘Scuse me, gonna borrow him a while.”

Spark is initially wobbly as he gets off the chair and remembers how to walk. By the time he reaches your hand, he appears stable and steady. Once on the dancefloor, the energetic music begins to fade and the DJ calls forth all the lovey-dovey couples for a slow jam. Your face falls.

“Oh, what a buzzkill! Let’s sideline until the good music comes back?”  
“Nah, we can make this work, c’mere~”

Spark tugs your arm and draws you back in, stumbling on the floor as your gait struggles with the complexity of resistance and not getting dragged. Your legs feel wooden as he sets his other hand on the small of your back.

“W-wait, I’m _really_ not good at this,” you stammer, stepping back. Spark doesn’t let you move very far.  
“Yeah, I’m not going to win Dancing with the Stars anytime soon, either,” he admits with a careless laugh.  
“No, really, can we not?”

You glance around for an escape route. Chipper pop routines and raunchy grinding were good enough for you to get down to. Swaying chest to chest had never been your forte. Your pulse throbs in your throat, and you realize you’re starting to mildly panic.

_I can’t go through this again, not like the last time._  
_Just give a sharp yank and run away. Hide in the bathroom or something._  
_But this was my idea, I can’t just ditch him._  
_You already said no._

The hand on your back pulls you near and your chest bumps Spark’s. Your stomach twists in knots. Spark kisses your forehead.

“Cast on waist. Come on, you know how it goes.”  
“I can’t,” you grate out, not sure if you’re blushing out of embarrassment or because you want to cry and shove him away.  
“Nobody’s looking. They don’t know how to dance either.”

_“I have no idea what I’m doing,” you giggle awkwardly as you look down, trying to mirror Candela’s steps._  
_“Sure you do, you’re doing great.”_

_The overly-sweet smell of rum; her hand on your waist; the not-so-innocent way her legs fit along yours and between them; the press of her body as the dancefloor crowds up more; the pounding of bass and blood in your ears; guitar and her lips giving you goosebumps._

The hand holding yours gives a little squeeze. You force your legs to move, if only to keep up with Spark and not get hauled around like a limp doll. You feel about as graceful as Bojangles toddling around on three good legs. You feel like every pair of eyes in the room is staring at you like your thoughts are on projection on the wall nearby.

_“This isn’t working out, I think I need to just-”_  
_“Just what? It’s the booze, ain’t it? You look like you could use a cleanse.”_  
_“No, it’s not- I just need to not, like, go out anymore.”_  
_“Oh. Kay, fine, we’ll-”_  
_“No. We won’t.”_

_Uncomfortable silence. Hand on your thigh, fingers in your hair._

_“You coming down with something?”_  
_“I don’t think this is working.”_  
_“What?”_  
_“You heard me.”_  
_“Wait, are you-?” Touch retracted, feet pacing the floors. Incredulous tone. “You? You’re dumping me?”_  
_“I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry. My job –I told you. And I’m behind. I don’t like waking up like this.”_  
_“Lightweight. Fine, we’ll do it your way and stay in.”_  
_“No, you go do your thing. And I’ll do mine. Alone.”_  
_“Ha, ok, right. I’ll see you in a few weeks when you come crawling back. You’re gonna miss me sugar. You know it.”_

“I don’t wanna,” you protest. “Please, let’s stop?”  
“Why? I think you’re doing great.”

Spark’s cheek brushes your temple and his breath puffs against your ear when he speaks.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”  
“Don’t change the subject!”  
“It’s an interjection.”  
“I can’t dance with you! Stop!”  
“But you’re already dancing.”

You turn your face away, feeling your stomach knitting itself into more knots. It would be so easy to yank away from him and just run away like you always do. _And hurt his feelings, and make him realize you’re a mess._

“Please don’t make me. Last time I danced like this, I fell for the wrong person. Everything went to shit. I can’t do it again. Just leave things as they are, ok?”

You can hear Spark’s grin when he speaks.

“If everything does happen to go to shit, I’ll help you clean it up.”  
“Don’t act like you’re so in control of everything.”  
“Why are you freaking out over a little dance?”  
“Why are you being so persistent about it?”  
“Because the more you talk, the longer you stay here and keep dancing.”

You meet his playful grin with a glare, and it’s like trying to be angry at a kitten. The harder you glare, the weaker your resolve becomes.

“Ugh! You’re so annoying!”  
“You’re still dancing.”

Spark snickers. You snarl.

“Just imagine for a sec,” he begins. “If it was the right person. What if you missed out on them because you didn’t dance? What then?”

_What if?_  
_And what if you do, and everything goes up in flames, and you spend another year being depressed and feeling desperate? Or even longer?_  
_But he’s right… what if I could fall in love with him and I opted out, for some stupid, selfish reason?_  
_I thought we were talking about dancing._  
_You and he both know this was never about dancing._  
_Shit. He knows._  
_He knows and he wants you to keep dancing._  
_Shit. Fuck._  
_Yup. Dammit._  
_Well… What now?_

Spark rests his cheek along your temple and grants you the illusion of privacy by letting you avoid his gaze. His thumb caresses your hand and you bite your lip, trying to swallow your anxiety. Your swaying slow twirl and the alcohol make you feel a bit dizzy. A little part of you whispers that it’d be nice to just close your eyes and cuddle up against him, keep on dancing.

“Is it so awful to be in my arms?” he asks gently.  
“…No,” you begrudgingly admit.  
“Am I anything like her?”

You give it thorough consideration and finally shake your head a little.

“No. I hate you,” you mutter. “Stop doing this.”  
“Doing what?”  
“This!”

_Making me love you._

“I’m so annoying, you hate me, I feed you pizza pockets,” he rattles off the list of grievances. “God, I’m such a douchebag.”  
“The fucking worst. You suck!”

You’re relieved he’s veering into jokes and teasing. You could work with that.

“The best at being the worst.”  
“Just shut up.”

You can’t help bursting into laughter. He follows suit.

“I’ll drag you to the dark side, just you watch,” he adds.  
“You’ll never take me alive!”  
“Oh, but I’ve taken you so many ways already. Heard no complaints.” He leans in to nip your ear and when he speaks again, he’s pitching his voice high and breathy. “Mmn, Spark, more! Harder! Right there, ohgodyes, I’m gonna-”  
“Oh, my _god_ , go fuck yourself!”

You have no qualms about punching him in the side with your cast. Given your range of motion, you don’t inflict much harm, but he gets the message. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing your grin, you turn your face against his neck.

“Hey, now, people might think you’re being abusive.” He licks your ear and adds; “Promise you’ll watch?” You giggle.  
“Stop it! You shit, you drive me crazy!”  
“Mission accomplished!” He throws his head back with a victorious laugh.  
“Seriously? Shut up!”

You swing your encased arm up around his shoulders to haul him in, and end his infuriating babble with a kiss. He laughs against your lips.

“Y’know, the more you fight me, the more I want to wrestle you down. This is fun.”  
“You’re _obsessed_ with winning.”

Spark just grins at that, ending the kiss. When you glance up at him, his smile gets even wider. He leans forward and nips the tip of your nose.

“Lose.”  
“This isn’t a game. Hell, you said so.”  
“Changed my mind. Lose to me, you know you want to.”  
“What I want is for you to stop talking.”

This time, you kiss him and don’t let go. You’ve stopped dancing. Distantly, you hear the music change, the DJ talking, the partygoers cheering. Bodies crush around you as the countdown begins. Spark shifts his hand up your back, shielding you from the crowd and holding your body flush against him.

“Ten!”

Your good hand rakes up his nape and into his hair. His fingertips trail up your arm to your shoulder, and down your front to discretely grope your breast. You gently bite his lower lip.

“Six!”

The noisemakers and cheering drown out your moans as Spark claims another kiss. His hand on your chest moves lower, around your waist to your back, and lower still. You sigh as he squeezes your ass, pressing your hips against his. He laughs as you tighten your fist in his hair.

“Three! Two!”

As the clock strikes midnight, the noise is deafening. Spark’s hand moves up your back to your nape. You giggle as something tickles your arm, shoulders, cheeks. You don’t part until the press of bodies abates. You’re breathless and happy. The DJ is announcing the new year and champagne is being served around. The silver and gold confetti downpour is trickling off, and both you and Spark are heaped in it. Spark reaches up to brush some glitter off your head, grinning as it trickles down around you. He leans in and presses his lips to your ear, but his words are drowned out by the music returning. You sling your arms around his neck and smooch his cheek, laughing.

 

It’s four AM by the time the party starts winding down. It takes you another hour to get a hold of a taxi and begin your way home. You and Spark doze against each other in the back, voices worn thin and bodies exhausted from all the alcohol and dancing.

“You guys alright back there?”

The driver’s voice coaxes your eyes open and you find her glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. You’re waiting at a light. It’s still dark out.

“Just sleepy,” you murmur.  
“Good party, yeah? We’re almost there.”

You watch the scenery as she advances to the next intersection and again has to wait for the light. You realize you’re a lot closer to home than the length of the ride implied, or maybe you’d slept some of it away, dead to the world. You glance at the time on the car’s dashboard.

“Uh, hey, there’s a café straight ahead, two blocks down. Do you mind dropping us there instead?”  
“Sure. Could use a coffee myself.”

You point out the name as you approach. While she parks, you give Spark a shake to rouse him. The back seat is littered with traces of glitter and confetti as you all exit the vehicle. You hand the driver her fare and tip. The Prancing Vulpix’s lights are being flicked on, and inside you spy a single barista preparing the drip coffees.

The café is warm and not fully illuminated, but it’s definitely open for business. Your driver greets the barista like they were long-time friends, and they exchange a few pleasantries. Spark picks out a table and sets the chairs down around it. You take your seats to wait. The warmth of being indoors feels like a cozy, seductive blanket. You yawn and give your head a little shake, trying to keep awake.

“‘appy ‘ew ‘eah,” Spark slurs through his own yawn. You smile sleepily.  
“Happy new year.”  
“Hm, so… How did you find the past year? Good, bad, ugly?”

You shed your coat and loosen your scarf as you contemplate the question.

“Well, it started out ok. I made it here. But it was scary and different. I only had a few local friends, and they were less available after my move than when I wasn’t living here. I felt really alone.”  
“But you got the job you wanted, and a nice place to live. Weren’t you excited?”  
“Mm, yeah… What about you?”  
“Started out sour. Me and Abelia were already falling apart, we just didn’t want to acknowledge it.”  
“Who confronted who first?”  
“Wasn’t really a confrontation…”

Spark gnaws on his lip, looking lost in memories. You reach out to take his hand.

“It was little things, a thousand cuts that bled our relationship to death, I guess. I can’t even name a single one. It’s like in the movies, when someone knows they’re about to get shot, and everything slows down. You think you might dodge the odds.”  
“But you’re good at that.”

He shrugs.

“She took me out to the alley when I came home to movers. I asked if she had ever loved me, and she just… started crying. I hated that I wasn’t angry with her when she told me. I hated myself for not being angry at all. It was so weird. I just felt… I dunno, robbed and empty.”

He looks like he wants to add to that, but gives up, seemingly unsure what to say. Gently, you ask:

“Have you thought about getting help?”  
“Have already. The League will take my gym if they think I can’t do my job.”  
“You moved on pretty fast. Are you sure we’re not moving too fast ourselves?”  
“Honestly, even after three years, it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it might. Maybe because I understood where she was coming from? Maybe therapy right away helped, too, I don’t know.”  
“Maybe. I know some of you still hurts, and I think only time can make that go away.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand.

“I think this feels natural, like, not forced. I don’t have to ask myself if one of us is playing games, or being unfaithful, or whatever. Even if it’s hard, sometimes, I really appreciate that we talk about stuff.”  
“Is that why you asked for commitment right off the bat?”  
“Part of it? The other part was for your sake. You said you weren’t looking for a fling. And neither was I.”  
“So, you were offering me insurance?” You grin at that.  
“Heh, yeah, I suppose you might call it that.” He rakes his free hand through his hair, inciting a rain of fine glitter to flutter down around him. “Kay, my turn now. When did you meet Candela?”

You cast your gaze aside thoughtfully, and your smile fades.

“Not long after I moved. I don’t think I was ok, but I’m not sure what was wrong, exactly. I don’t know why moving made me feel so –what’s the word? Frenzied?” _Yeah, that sounds about right. Like a dog chasing cars._ “I just felt so _alone_ and in need of attention. I did such stupid things, acted like a total whore just to try and connect to people.”  
“Loneliness is brutal. I’m sorry you felt like that. Couldn’t Rose and Aurora help at all?”  
“I mean, we did hang out now and then, but it just wasn’t enough, I guess? I really don’t know why I became like that. I’ve never been like that. It’s like I forgot who I was, or never knew, or something. I don’t know.”

You stretch out a finger to flick at a flake of glitter on his hand. You both watch as you try to get it off and finally succeed.

“Maybe you just needed to rebel after feeling so constrained back home,” Spark offers.  
“Yeah, maybe.” _Careful, that’s a little too close to true._  
“Did Candela make you feel wanted?”  
“Yes! She…”

You meet his gaze and realize your enthusiasm is hollow and untrue. Spark’s gaze doesn’t flinch. For a moment, you wonder if you should lie to make his ego feel better. _You owe him better than that._

“She did… in a way. Hell, she’s really good at making anyone she’s interested in feel like the world belongs to them. It’s intoxicating. I’ve never felt like that with anyone. I wanted to be drunk on her twenty-four-seven.”

It doesn’t take much effort to relive it; you can still taste her perfume, feel her body against you, feel your own body want to collapse in her arms. It seems lifetimes ago, and yet only yesterday. Through it all, that little pidgey at the back of your mind whispers: _And that’s how you feel about Spark._

“I _was_ drunk on her. She got me blacked out three nights a week, threw me into loud, crazy parties full of people I didn’t know and never met again. The se- _intimacy_ was intense. Maybe I just thought that because I’d never been with a woman. I stayed because I craved the attention, the importance. I deluded myself into thinking this was a fairytale romance until the bubble popped. I didn’t realize how fast things were moving until it hit me, and I had a meltdown.”

You shake your head and clear away the fog of the past.

“I know now that’s not what I _really_ needed. Funny how we both had such awful breakups around the same time.”

You take a deep breath a sigh. A stray thought about vacuuming yourselves in the doorway before you track glitter all over the apartment scurries across your mind.

“How was your summer?” Spark asks.  
“Don’t remember much. I was numb and depressed for a while after I broke it off with her. I adopted Bojangles. My roommate told me she was shopping for a place with her fiancée. I think I got scared, or felt competitive because of that. I started dating really aggressively. I was afraid of getting left behind.”  
“And you met me.”  
“I sure did. Never lived with a guy before. I was really worried it wouldn’t work out.”  
“Hah, I remember all those questions you asked me. You were staring me down like I was gonna kill you in your sleep.”  
“Ehhh… More like wondering what you looked like naked.” You don’t bother to hide your cheeky grin.  
“That’s objectifying! You’re awful!” He laughs again.

You smile and withdraw your hand to pillow your head on the table.

“‘m tired…” you sigh. “Sorry for wanting you just for your body. I like the rest of you now, if that helps.”  
“Well, I should hope so. Do _you_ think we’re moving too fast?”  
“I’m not even sure what fast is anymore. I think we’re going at the pace that’s right for us? Yeah.” You yawn and cover your mouth belatedly. “‘unno how we got here though. I didn’t trust myself not to get hurt. ‘fraid of doing it again. Might screw it all up and let you down, or… I dunno.”  
“I thought it was pretty hot how aggressive you were on me.”

You giggle and turn your face away.

“You still afraid of getting hurt?”  
“Isn’t everyone?”  
“D’you think I’d hurt you?”

You shut your eyes.

“Nah, I think you’re a good egg. D’you think I’d ever turn lesbian and ditch you?”  
“Damn, I hope not. Might give me a complex. Why do you think I eat you out so much?”  
“Hungry?” You snicker. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Spark sits up straighter and glances towards the counter, then back to you.

“Looks like they’re ready to go. Wanna get some breakfast before we go to bed?”  
“Sounds good,” you yawn again.  
“Cheddar-spinach omelette wrap with bacon?”  
“Mn? You remembered my order? Oh, I love you.”

Spark kisses your temple and gets up to go place your orders. You gnaw your lip and feel your brain catch up with what your mouth had just let slip. Your eyes grow wide. _Did I just say it? Did he hear? Maybe he thought I was being sarcastic or drunk._ You hoped he was too drunk to have heard.

The thought keeps you awake enough and wondering until he returns bearing coffee.

“Here, drink up so you can make it home.”  
“Thanks.”

You sit up to accept the mug and glance at Spark as he sits across from you again. When he looks at you, your gaze drops to the edge of the table. Your clutch is in your lap, and as you’re sluggishly stirring your coffee, you remember there’s something important inside.

A touch to your head startles you and causes your spoon to fly from your grasp, clattering against the table, spattering coffee. Spark looks surprised, his hand paused in motion.

“Just spotted more glitter. Sorry, I didn’t think you’d jump so bad.”

You gasp and catch your breath. Your shoulders sag.

“I’m just tired. Wired.”  
“Was a good party, though. Did you have fun?” He reaches again to brush your hair.  
“Mm, I did! Wait, before I forget, I have something for you.”  
“For me?”

You take a deep drag on your coffee and set the mug down. Opening your clutch is hard on your one good hand, and your cast is little assistance. Spark offers to help and you ignore him. You pull open a balled-up wad of cocktail napkins, and hold your hand out. Spark arches a brow and accepts it. You drink more coffee, watching his hands over your mug.

The badge tumbles free atop the table and Spark sweeps the wrinkled napkins aside to pick it up.

“Candela said you would know what it meant,” you tell him. “It’s from her, obviously.”

Spark snorts. Perplexed, you try to make sense of his expression.

“What? Don’t tell me she’s challenging you.”  
“Nah, it’s the opposite of that. She’s declaring her loss. How cute. Like I need her badge.”

That makes you squint. Spark pockets the badge.

“So, it is a challenge?”  
“More like a backhanded concession,” he says between sips. “Whatever. Knowing what I know of her so far, I think that’s as much as her ego will ever allow.”  
“What do you mean? She said it was a thank you. I don’t follow.”  
“What good is any gym or division badge to a gym leader? We’re on the same level.”  
“Ohhh…” As a bitter afterthought, you sneer. “Wow, Candy…”  
“Yeah, but we knew that already.” He shrugs. “Got any plans for this year?”  
“Obviously, fix my arm, go to cooking class.” You fiddle with the handle of your mug. “Um… I was thinking about finding a therapist…”

Your voice degrades into a bashful whisper by the end of that line.

“That’s a good plan. The one I’ve been seeing only works within the League, but I can give you her contact. I’m sure she knows other people in the field.”  
“Really? That would be helpful.”  
“Why are you getting all shy about it? I want you to find some kind of peace. You deserve it.”  
“Thanks, I…” You’re not sure how to put into words what you’re feeling. You opt out of the spotlight and turn it on him, instead. “How about you? Got any plans this year?”  
“Hm… Win more, fight less.”

Spark taps his mug against yours and for a sleepy moment, you stare at them touching. And then you meet his gaze.

_Oh. He heard, didn’t he?_

“Congrats, you lost.”

And then Spark’s leaning across the table and kissing your stunned lips. For a second, his glance catches yours and a thrill runs down your spine. _He knows. He heard me say it… and he’s not freaking out. He’s not laughing at me or running away. Why am I not running away?_ Your brain catches up with the present as his warmth recedes, and you reach up to grab him, bring him back for another kiss.

The sound of plates landing on the table breaks you apart. You feel like you’ve just been caught naked, and turn your face away, leaving Spark to thank the barista. You wait until her steps sound far away enough before speaking.

“Why do you say I lost?”  
“I made a bet with myself to see which of us would say it first.”

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him. He grins.

“Hey, you _started_ first. I heard you.”  
“Doesn’t count.”

Somehow, it doesn’t seem all that fair, but you don’t feel cheated in the least.

“W-well, congrats on winning, then. You shit.”  
“I love you too. Here’s breakfast.”

_Nope, definitely not feeling like a loser._

You yawn before taking a bite of your wrap. As you eat in companionable silence, you realize nothing’s really changed, no great calamity has come down on your head, and there are no noble steeds waiting to carry you off into the sunset. You’re just a couple of drunk-hungry working professionals eating in a café at an ungodly-early hour of the first day of the new year. Covered in glitter.

That timid little pidgey at the back of your mind is muttering that it’s only a matter of time before you get hurt, before everything falls apart again, but you’re far too content to pay it much attention.

You’re not sure what’s different, or why, but it is. But something has changed, and it feels so good.

It’s after six by the time you stand to put on your coats, and make the trek to your apartment a few blocks away. With food in your bellies, your fatigue weighs you down, and the siren call for a bed is all you can think of. Spark’s blacked-out the room against the grey of dawn by the time you join him out of the shower. As you fumble your way into bed, your joints on the verge of giving out at the suggestion of comfort, you hear the trill of a little mew, and the faint snores of Boomer and Dash at Spark’s feet.

Bojangles is nestled safely in the crook of Spark’s arm, chin on his elbow, ears flat down his back. In the dimness, you can just barely make out the idle caress of Spark’s fingers on your eevee. You lay against Spark and reach to pet Bojangles. He licks your fingertips and you smile. Spark lets go of him to shut the light. His hand returns and grasps your fingers sticking out of the cast, settles your arm against him, palm over his heart. You settle your cheek on Spark’s pillow, nuzzling against the side of his neck.

“We make a nice little family,” you murmur, shutting your eyes and lifting your fingertips to overlap with his, even just a little. “I want more of this.”

A kiss is pressed to your forehead.

“The year just started. Sleep well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it, then. 
> 
> I have mixed feelings about this final chapter, and I may continue to tweak it until I feel better about it. My beta and I are working on editing the entire story, so expect updates and a bonus chapter when all is said and done. If you are not yet subscribed, you may wish to do so, so you'll receive the alert. 
> 
> At long last, Roommates is completed, and I thank you all for accompanying me on this journey -whether you've been here since the very start, or joined at any point thereafter. I never thought a silly oneshot idea would become this whole _novel_ , but here we are. It's the first inspiration I've had after a long dry spell, and I'm glad I got to write it, but more pleased that I was able to complete it. (What writer hasn't started a project and abandoned it part-way for lack of inspiration, self-doubt, or any number of other excuses?) I've refined a lot of my writing process throughout this project, and learned to ignore my doubts and forgive my mistakes. I've grown a lot from the first draft of chapter 1 to the final draft of 13 -both as a writer, and as a person. I started writing Roommates in late July of 2016, and have just now completed it, the last day of November 2017. What a year (and some) it has been. 
> 
> I know the Pokemon Go fandom isn't what it used to be, but my characters still have their stories to tell, so I'm going to keep writing until they, and I, are satisfied. I'd be very glad if you joined us. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading. If you haven't left your kudos, please click the heart button. If you have any thoughts, I would love to hear from you! Even a simple "hey, thanks" makes me really glad to know someone enjoyed my work. 
> 
> See you later,  
> Jali


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